Don't Look Back
by Melody Harper
Summary: Sequel to 'Once Upon a Past.' They thought they could just walk away from the strange, old fortuneteller's words. But truth has a way of following you. Winner of 2015 Profiler's Choice Award for Best Hotch/Emily.
1. Grounded

She heard the bells…Devil's chimes.

An evil, small tinkling that didn't belong in the pine-sharp air.

She tried to soar away from them. Upward. Outward. Anywhere-ward…

Boughs parted before her. Shards of light joined, promising one glorious white burn if she could only strive high enough; reach the top. Almost…almost… Needles and twigs scraped across and along her pumping muscles. Almost…almost…

Something jerked her back. Two-legged voices shouted below. She was falling.

And again, the Devil's bells…

…tiny and silver and attached to the jesses…

…that were tied to her leg…

XXXXXXXXXX

Emily Prentiss woke with a start, breath catching in her throat in rapid, lung-stopping gasps.

The dream was so close, she could feel the brush of feathers against her arms…the strum of muscles across her shoulders. Since childhood she'd dreamt of flying, coasting over neighborhoods in silent rapture of freedom and strength. But she hadn't had such a dream in a long while. Years, in fact.

She closed her eyes, curling her fingers into the crisp, unfamiliar hotel sheets, using the tactile contact to override the vertiginous sense of flight.

 _It's just a dream…just a dream._ One corner of her lips quirked upward. _Probably because of that damned fortuneteller last night. Next time we let someone_ _ **besides**_ _Garcia plan the itinerary when we're grounded._

Common concerns like an ailing jet and the whereabouts of the rest of her team helped disperse the lingering shreds of fancy trailing from her fast-fading dream. Prentiss rolled over, glancing at the bedside clock, groaning when she realized it was nearly noon. In all fairness, though, they _had_ been up late; until dawn, actually, as the old fortuneteller had decreed in lieu of payment for her readings. And the only one who might be better rested was Hotch, who'd dozed off right at their table.

Prentiss frowned. _So unlike him. But the whole evening was weirder than Halloween in Greenwich Village…_

She stretched an arm out toward the nightstand. Grasping her phone, she punched in the speed dial for the person whose finger was always on the pulse of things, and was most likely to know their aircraft's status. The call was picked up on the first ring.

"Morning, Emily."

"Hi, J. J., Are we going home today? Please say 'yes.'…"

The liaison's weighty sigh before answering didn't bode well. "Not sure."

"What does that mean?"

"Well, the jet's gonna be ready, but…the weather…" J.J.'s voice trailed off, leaving Prentiss to draw the obvious conclusion when one was dealing with Seattle's quixotic skies and flying conditions.

"So we can't even charter a regular flight to get home? We're well and truly stuck?

"Well and truly." The regret in J.J.'s tone made Emily pull back on expressing her own disappointment. At least she didn't have a child waiting for his Mommy to walk through the door. Although her cat, Sergio, did an excellent job of making her feel guilty whenever his dinner was late.

"So I guess we're here for at least another night?"

" 'Fraid so. Sorry."

"Not your fault." Prentiss rolled onto her back and executed a luxurious stretch. "I guess there are worse things to endure, right? Besides, didn't Morgan mention yesterday that this place has world-class seafood on just about every corner?"

A smile shimmered over the connection. "I don't know about _every_ corner, but…yeah…he mentioned that."

"Soooo…where is everyone? Have you talked to any of the others?"

"No. Probably just waking up like you, Em." There was an undeniable note of superiority in the reply that Prentiss just had to challenge.

"We stayed up until dawn. You didn't sleep in?"

"Couldn't. Had to call Henry. It's a deal we have. If I don't call him to say 'goodnight,' I'm honor-bound to call and say 'good morning.'"

Prentiss could hear pride and longing in her teammate's response. For a brief moment she envied J.J., but only for a moment. The tradeoff between having a family and having the freedom of being unattached were a foregone conclusion for Emily. She wasn't ready to give up the thrill of being answerable only to herself. Not yet.

Sometimes she wondered if she'd ever be ready, but then she'd think how wrong it would be to accept a situation like motherhood simply because society said 'it's time.' Prentiss took pride in listening to her own inner orchestra. And so far the tune being played was too wild and free to be shackled to anything domestic. J.J.'s continued conversation pulled her out of her musings about the joys and trials of being single.

"…even a couple more."

Prentiss pulled herself up, propping her back against the headboard. "What was that? I didn't catch it."

"I said…we could be stuck here more than a day. The weather's not looking good for the next few. Lots of fog and stagnant air currents, so it's not moving out."

Emily gave a gusty sigh. "Well, Mother Nature's being a bitch, I guess." Her tone brightened. "But I've never had time to be a tourist when we've been here before. I'd like a chance to look around." She vaulted out of bed, energy renewed at the prospect of exploring new venues. "I'm gonna go downstairs and see if they serve breakfast this late. Meet me?"

"Sure. Just let me touch bases with Hotch first."

"He's not gonna be too happy about being stranded."

"Tell me about it."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The yelping was shrill, angry.

It made him cower and whine deep in the back of his throat, because he knew what would come next. Ears flattened, hackles rising, he fought the internal battle that made his life a torment.

 _Follow your instincts…resist…and you'll be beaten. Display obedience, bow to the two-legs' will and feel the ancient agony of denying who you are…what you are…LEADER! ALPHA! LEADER! PROTECT!_

He couldn't stop; couldn't let the newcomer be whipped into submission.

 _PROTECT PACK MEMBER!_

He felt his sinews pulling, muscles bunching. Unstoppable.

 _PROTECT!_

He knew he'd be thrashed within an inch of his life, or maybe they'd decide to kill him outright this time. But the punishment didn't matter. He was alpha to the depth and breadth and center of his soul. He would lay down his life to keep the pup from harm…

 _ATTACK!_

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

With a heart-wrenching sound that tore through his chest and savaged his throat, Hotch yanked himself upright.

Shaking, he blinked in the darkened hotel room, struggling to bring himself back from…from…already it was fading. He couldn't see where or when or who.

But terror and fury roiled through him.

And he didn't know why.

Hotch turned his face into the crisp, unfamiliar pillow and tried to muffle the sob that was as inevitable as the dream that he'd thought he'd outgrown. It had plagued him in adolescence, but he'd thought it had departed his psyche for good.

It had been years since he'd had it.

As his breathing evened and his shuddering eased, he knew why it had returned.

 _That Godforsaken fortuneteller. Never again. Never again. Won't go back there._

But he wasn't sure if 'there' meant the occult, little parlor where an old woman had exposed something he couldn't accept…or that place in his dreams where leashes and chains and pain defined him.

All he could do was deny.

All he could do was refuse it; bury it deep, deep, deeper. And fight to the death if it tried to take him again.


	2. Free Day

"Sorry, Hotch. I know it's not what you want to hear, but…" J.J.'s words trailed off.

There wasn't anything you could do against inclement weather. Still, she regretted being the bearer of ill tidings, especially when her boss sounded a little down to begin with.

 _And the way he fell asleep at the table last night…_ Her maternal sensibilities surged to the forefront. _Maybe he's coming down with something._ "Hotch, I'll let the others know we're stuck here, and then I was going to meet Emily downstairs for breakfast. You should come, too. Don't skip eating, okay?"

"Huh? Oh…yeah…sure…okay. Uh, thanks for the update." The rumbling baritone was…off; sounding as foggy as the Seattle sky.

"Please say you'll come down and eat."

The liaison's gentle persistence brought a smile to her leader's face. She could hear it in his slight intake of breath and the subsequent huff outward; like the ghost of a chuckle. "I will. Thanks, J.J."

Hotch hung up, his grin ending as abruptly as though he'd closed a connection on it, too.

 _I dreamt something. Can't remember…_ The images had slipped away with quicksilver speed, eluding his mind's grasp, leaving behind only a psychic shadow, an echo of something terrible that made his insides cringe without knowing why. For a moment he made the effort to recall why he felt as though an adrenalin surge had just happened. His hands shook with the slight tremor of fight-or-flight. His heart had calmed, but was still thumping hard enough to impact his ribs and resound in his ears. _And I want to hit something…or someone…_ The Unit Chief was teetering on an angry edge.

Sitting on the bed, he drew his legs up. Wrapping his arms around them, he rested his forehead against his knees. He felt better in this posture, his belly and throat protected. _That's a strange thing to think._ But he couldn't deny how his respiration and heartbeat slowed as he curled in on himself. Mind reaching, he tried to convince himself it was instinctive for all species to defend their soft underbellies and their jugular-laden throats.

Even though he couldn't dredge up details with any precision, Hotch knew it was the same dream that had plagued his childhood and adolescence. He was always left with the feeling of having been restrained…and endangered to the point where his survival instincts snapped into play.

It made him feel like an animal.

And that brought the strange, old seer's words back to him… _Beast you were, man you are, but beast you shall be again_ … Ridiculous. It made no sense in the waking, workaday world.

Yet it scared Hotch down to the deepest part of his soul. He had no idea why, but a nameless dread assaulted him every time his thoughts turned to Madame Sobrani and the previous night.

With slow, cautious movements, he unfurled from the tight little ball he'd folded himself into. The best therapy for whatever ailed him was work. He'd go down for breakfast so J.J. wouldn't feel snubbed, and then he planned to bury himself in paperwork until such time as the jet could provide an escape from this city that had grown suddenly strange.

It wasn't the same town where he'd cut his teeth on becoming an FBI agent.

 _I don't belong here anymore._ Hotch's lips lifted, giving a glimpse of those same sharp, white teeth.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

By the time Hotch made his way down to the hotel's dining room, J.J. had spread the word of their predicament. She had also mustered the whole team to begin their day by sharing a meal together.

"It's the most important meal of the day," she scolded when Morgan tried to wheedle another hour of sleep. "Even if it's afternoon, it's still breakfast. You can go back to bed afterwards."

Derek had grumbled, but, twenty minutes later, was nonetheless doing justice to a Spanish omelet.

As Hotch approached, Rossi glanced up from a plate overflowing with sourdough pancakes smothered in blueberry syrup, a Northwest specialty. "Morning, Aaron. How'd you sleep?"

"Good, thanks. You?"

It was a polite nothing. Everyone knew it.

Something in their leader's voice and body language…the way he avoided eye contact in favor of fussing with his table setting and picking up a menu…caused a few forks to hesitate in their journeys, a few eyes to shift as glances were exchanged.

J.J. filled what threatened to become an uncomfortable silence. "Now that we're all here, I can say I checked with SeaTac airport again. They don't expect anything to take off or land for the next couple of days. The only hope that'll change is if winds blow in off the ocean." She sighed. "But right now that doesn't look likely. They're issuing air quality warnings for those with respiratory conditions…"

"You're kidding!" Prentiss raised her chin, a piece of bacon poised before her lips. "This is still like the freshest air I've breathed in a long time! Wonder what it's like when it's moving, if this is considered stale."

"That's 'cause we're virtually on a peninsula surrounded by seawater." Reid's command of geographical facts didn't interfere with his consumption of Belgian waffles. "We're essentially in a pocket of fresher air, but the stagnant quality is still affecting the greater part of the region."

Emily settled back, looking thoughtful as she chewed her bacon; eyes distant.

"Well, since we're stuck here, what are everyone's plans for the day?" Rossi pushed his nearly polished plate away. "I'm going to visit the Seattle Art Museum and then have dinner at Chandler's Crab House…known for an exquisite preparation of the finest King crab. Anyone care to join me?"

Hotch's order of eggs arrived. "I'm going over to the Seattle branch office. See if I can be of any use." He glanced at J.J. "Keep in touch with the airport and let us know if things change."

Morgan shook his head. "Gee, way to take advantage of a day off, Hotch." The Unit Chief gave his subordinate a reprimanding look from under his brows, but didn't pursue the matter. Derek continued, "I'd like to look around Pike Place Market. Little bit we saw last night was kinda interesting…"

"Oh! Me, too!" Garcia's eyes shone at the prospect of a long afternoon in the presence of her chocolate god made even better by exploring the maze-like market and all the surprises she suspected nestled in its odd corners.

"I'm gonna take one of the SUVs, if that's okay." Reid looked around the table, making sure he wasn't intruding on anyone else's plans. When no objections surfaced, his smile ignited. "I wanna go check out the Microsoft campus over in Redmond."

"Oh, Lord help Bill Gates if he runs into you…Probably rewrite his whole platform before he knows it." Rossi's joking words were thinly masked pride in the team's resident genius, and were taken as such. Reid's grin grew.

"I think I'll take you up on that museum offer, Rossi." J.J. smiled. "I need to stay close in case the fog lifts, but it'd be nice to see a few masterpieces in the meantime."

"Well, that takes care of _almost_ everyone." Dave lifted his chin toward Prentiss. "What about you, Emily? Anything around here tweak your interest?"

The distant look still hazing her eyes, the team's alpha female blinked. "I…I really want to get out somewhere where I can walk. You know…somewhere away from concrete and pavement…somewhere…somewhere green."

No one noticed Hotch go still, fork poised over his plate.

"There are some nice hiking trails that aren't far away. They're not supposed to be rugged or anything. I could drop you on my way over to Microsoft," Reid offered.

Hotch shivered. He'd been planning on touching bases with any agents from his Seattle past that might still be local. But something in Prentiss's voice hooked into him like a siren's song. _Green…Away from civilization…Someplace fresh and wild and…_ He completely shocked himself and everyone else at the table…

"Can I come, too? Would…would you mind?" His dark eyes met hers.

Something kindred passed between them. Something in the shared desire to step into a quieter realm where the sounds and scents were free of mankind's taint… _Free…_

"That's probably a good idea," Reid interjected. He was the only one to miss the current that passed between the other two. "It's always safer to have a hiking buddy. Even if it won't be rough terrain, you know?"

Prentiss nodded. "Yeah, Hotch. Let's get out of here. I just need to grab a jacket."

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

Garcia watched as Reid took the SUV's wheel; Hotch riding shotgun; Emily in the back.

"Hey, Baby Girl…you comin'?"

"Sure. Yeah." She looped her arm through Morgan's as they started toward Pike Place Market, then looked up at him with troubled eyes. "How weird was that?!"

Derek chuckled. "Yeah, Bossman giving up hangin' out at headquarters. Guy's a little off his game."

"No. Not _that_." The sincere concern in Penelope's voice made Morgan's brow furrow. "I mean how weird is it that the two people Madame Sobrani said were, you know, something not, you know…quite _human_ …are the ones who want to run off into the woods?"

"Mama, I don't wanna hear anything more about that old fraud, okay? Let's just go explore and have some fun. Hotch and Prentiss are fine."

" 'Kay…" But for the rest of the day Garcia couldn't banish the images born of the fortuneteller's words…

…A bird of prey…

…and a wolfish creature with savage eyes.


	3. Dreamscape

"This is it…I think."

Reid peered through the windshield at what the GPS told him was the trailhead for a moderately strenuous hike through untrammeled, evergreen forest.

He gave his teammates the benefit of his encyclopedic knowledge as they disembarked the SUV. "Even if you wander off the beaten path, you shouldn't get too lost, guys. This is a wooded area they left just for city-dwellers who want a quick getaway. Walk in any direction for 15 to 20 miles and you'll come out of it."

"Don't worry, Reid. We'll be careful." Prentiss was rummaging through the ample storage space in the rear of the vehicle, filling a small knapsack with some of the standard issue survival gear stocked in every official SUV. She scooped up a few bottles of water and some energy bars. "We're just looking for some fresh air, although…" Her sigh was wistful. "…it would be nice to be able to climb someplace high and feel the wind."

The young genius frowned. "There _is_ no wind. That's why we're stuck here." Shaking his head, he delivered a few parting words. "There might be some pockets where phone reception's spotty. Just sayin'. When you guys wanna be picked up, call, okay? Oh! And I think there might be a place you can climb…not very high according to the topographical maps of the area, but, like I said…no wind."

"We'll be fine, Reid. Thanks for the ride. Have fun at Microsoft." Hotch shouldered the backpack, leaving Emily unencumbered for their excursion. He had a hunch that feeling free and unfettered was important to her.

They waited until Spencer had driven off, swallowed up by distance and fog, before plunging into the forest proper.

XXXXXXXXXXX

"I didn't mean for you to carry everything."

Prentiss was enjoying her freedom, but felt a touch of guilt for burdening her Unit Chief.

"It's okay. I don't mind. Besides, this was your idea. I'm just tagging along. Kind of like a pack mule."

"Hotch!" She didn't know if he was serious or not. Her leader's acerbic wit didn't appear often enough for her to be sure. And the idea of Hotch being playful was too alien for her to accept a joking attitude right off the bat. "Seriously, we can take turns carrying it." Emily's voice lowered, taking on a melancholy tone. "You should be able to run free, too…probably need it more than I do, even…" The last had been under her breath, meant for her ears alone.

But Hotch heard everything. Not just the words, but the sadness and longing and sympathy. Ordinarily, he didn't let things touch him. But Prentiss's remark in this place where there was nothing to splinter his focus…did.

"Emily, the backpack really doesn't matter." He took a deep breath and a chance. "And I have no idea _what_ I need. Other than to be out here. I'm glad you suggested it."

Prentiss heard the open honesty. She wasn't sure how to respond.

So she didn't.

XXXXXXXXXXX

After the initial push that burned off random energy and took the hikers deep enough to leave behind all sounds of traffic, Hotch and Prentiss slowed to an easy pace accomplished in companionable silence. The trail changed direction several times, making the wooded area seem much larger than Reid's estimate of 15 to 20 miles.

Two hours later, both agents were perspiring, and both were feeling much better than they had at the start of the day. Hotch was in the lead when he pulled up short.

"Prentiss? You still want to go someplace high and try to feel the air move?"

Emily came to stand beside her boss, looking in the direction he indicated. A rise in the ground could be seen between the trees off to one side. The incline increased sharply from what she could tell.

"I would. I know the air's stagnant, but…I would."

"Okay then…"

Side by side, they scaled a slope that went from pine needle-covered ground to shale to mid-sized granite boulders, topping out in a surprisingly craggy, alpine meadow. Fog limited the visibility, but even so, the pair had the sensation of open space. It manifested as a pressure in their ears, a quality in the currents that twisted tendrils of mist.

Wordless, Hotch took a seat on one of the boulders, flexing his shoulders and letting the backpack slide to the ground beside him. He watched as Prentiss stood a few yards away. Lifting her arms like wings, she closed her eyes and raised her face to the shifting, grey sky. She held the posture, lips parting as though fog had a flavor.

Hotch didn't need to be a profiler to read yearning in every line of his teammate's body. It was primal. It was a caged creature recalling freedom. It was bliss.

He couldn't share it, but he didn't want it to end.

Which is why, as his own fascination with her grew, he felt he had to interrupt this pure dance of instinct.

"Careful, Prentiss. Don't get too close to the edge."…although he had a feeling the edge was where this woman would always be most comfortable. His words had the desired effect. In a slow, graceful arc, Emily lowered her arms to her sides.

Hotch squeezed his eyes shut for a moment against a faint touch of vertigo…and the impression of feathers. Long pinions of dark and glossy hue. He shook his head. When he looked again, it was gone. _It's just the fog and the color of her hair…just a visual aberration…almost an hallucination…And maybe we should eat something._

By the time Prentiss had come over to share his boulder, Hotch had unearthed two bottles of water and a handful of oat-and-honey granola bars. He handed Emily one and sat back to enjoy the sense of space that surrounded them. A few minutes of quiet broken only by the sounds of crunching and swallowing passed before Prentiss spoke in a soft, but satisfied tone.

"I needed this. My mother always said that getting out into the fresh air was better than a Chippewa dream catcher. They're the tribe that originated them, you know? Anyway, being out here clears out the cobwebs…almost wipes the slate clean." She glanced at Hotch and was caught by the intensity in his dark eyes. "What?"

He blinked, frowning. "Dreams?"

One side of her lips quirked upward in a roguish grin. "Yeah. Had one last night that's like an old friend. Used to have it all the time growing up. Thought it was gone, but…" She shrugged, smile growing. "…it came back. I think I actually missed it. Like I said…an old friend."

The Unit Chief's troubled eyes were scanning hers, trying to decipher something. A touch of concern disturbed the peaceful feeling she'd been enjoying. "Hotch? What's wrong?"

She could hear him swallow in the still air. "Same thing happened to me last night." Eyes as dark as omens locked on hers.

"Only mine isn't an old friend. More like an enemy I can't shake." His gaze went distant. "An enemy that's always looking for me. And I can't get away…"

 _Can't get away..._ Prentiss caught her breath. She'd enjoyed the sensation of flying so much, she'd forgotten the unpleasant part. The part where she couldn't get away...where she was pulled back by a leather strip studded with tiny bells.

Cold like a chip of ice settled in her stomach.

"Hotch, was there a...a _leash_ in your dream? Something that…that _tied_ you?"

Of all the details he couldn't recall, that one came surging up out of murky depths with her words. He nodded.

And the ice chip entered him as well.

"Prentiss…tell me your dream…"


	4. Trust

Prentiss's breath caught in her throat. "Kind of weird we'd both have old, familiar dreams on the same night."

Hotch was silent for a moment, staring into the foggy middle-distance. Then… "What was your dream? Tell me?" He cringed inside. He'd always kept strict barriers in place when it came to accessing others' personal information, except in the line of duty, of course. On a case he was as persistent and perceptive as a foxhound, gleaning the most telling things from the slightest whiff of evidence.

But this was different.

This was personal, and this was Prentiss.

"Unless…you don't want to talk about it," he hedged.

"Are you kidding? I'm with Garcia on this kind of stuff. Only…" She raised one shoulder in an elegant shrug. "…I don't take it so seriously. It can be very cool, but it's likely just coincidences and deep-seated aspects of one's own psychological past…don't you think?"

The past was something Hotch had no desire to exhume. Neither his, nor that of some imagined fantasy. But he wanted to know why Emily had mentioned a leash and the feeling of restraint in her dream, when the very mention of those things made him feel like a volcano inside: all molten and unstoppably destructive.

He nodded. "Agreed. So…?" He arched a quizzical brow, encouraging her to begin.

Her lids lowered and, again, she raised her face to the sky. An unexpected breeze lifted her hair, bringing the imagery of feathers to Hotch's mind once again. "There's not much to tell. I fly. I've always been able to fly in my dreams. And I love it." Prentiss opened her eyes, turning to meet her teammate's dark regard. "It wasn't until you mentioned an enemy that I thought of the other part. The part where someone tries to stop me…to tame me."

She searched his eyes. Unreadable. Their depths reflecting either nothing, or too much, but she couldn't tell which, couldn't decipher his expression.

Hotch licked dry lips and swallowed. "You mentioned a leash."

Emily nodded, looking out over the fog-shrouded land before them. "Something pulls me back. I get the impression of a leather strip. Long. And there's always the sound of bells. Little ones, like…like jingle bells…or those annoying ones that shopkeepers use over their front doors that…"

"Falconry." Hotch's whisper froze her mid-sentence. Her head turned in a slow arc as she looked at him, her lips tracing a bemused half-smile.

"That is so weird." She studied his eyes. "You're right. In the dream and just now, I couldn't put a name to it. But you're right. It was falconry." The smile born of this revelation about an old riddle… faded. "I hated it. I didn't want to be tamed. I fought…I hated the bells. I still don't like them…not the little ones anyway."

Sorrow touched Prentiss's delicate features, but her eyes never left his. Aaron couldn't look away either. "Your turn, Hotch. What comes to you in your dreams?"

He shook his head in small, repetitive denial. "I…I don't know. I didn't know _anything_ until you said 'leash.' Then I remembered being restrained…being angry." One side of his mouth twitched in a mirthless homage to his own ineffective ability to recall. "I guess someone was trying to tame me, too." He expected her to make some wry remark. This was Prentiss after all. But her eyes remained grave, watching him… _Like a hawk…Like an eagle…eagle-eyed…but not predatory…just keen…_

"Do you _want_ to remember?…Hotch, do you?" She breathed his name out; a sign of uncertainty. Emily didn't know if she was crossing boundaries that should remain intact. They would both hate anything that compromised their professional relationship, but something about this mountaintop and the fact that they shared the need to escape civilization, if only for a few hours, encouraged intimacy. A small voice ran in the back of her mind… _Reid said there_ _ **were**_ _no mountains. We can't be very high up, but it feels…it feels isolated...and strange..._

"If you want to remember, I could take you through a cognitive. Up here where it's just us…"

The Unit Chief read between the lines. _No one has to know about this. Whatever is said stays private._ It was tempting, but…

Prentiss read his reluctance. Things were too serious, too personal. She let mischief enter her grin. "Think of this as a kind of outdoor Vegas. What happens up here…stays up here." The challenging glint in her eye lightened the atmosphere. Almost as though the air were in synchronicity, the breeze freshened, scattering shreds of fog in twirls and tatters. A soft, muted blue peeked through overhead.

Taking a deep breath, Hotch studied his teammate for a moment. In the bird-less silence the land seemed to be holding its breath, too…waiting.

"Okay." He nodded.

"Good." Prentiss felt a thrill, like wings beating inside her chest. For Aaron Hotchner to even agree to a cognitive interview of a dream from his childhood was a tremendous demonstration of trust.

"Good," she repeated. Her voice dropping to a soft, lulling, almost secretive tone.

"Close your eyes, Hotch… Close your eyes and listen…"


	5. Pups

Hotch closed his eyes.

Soot-dark lashes made shadows on his cheeks. Prentiss could tell he was tense, overly cautious about letting someone into his dark places, especially when he himself didn't know what they held. She kept her voice low, striving to make it match the quiet peace of the terrain that surrounded them.

"Just listen to the wind, Hotch…" _And there_ _ **is**_ _wind! Maybe we'll go wheels up after all._ "Listen to my voice…There's a reason you wanted to come out here today…Let this place speak to you…Just listen…and breathe…slowly…in…out…slow…down…way…down…"

She watched his chest expand, taking in a deep, cleansing breath at last as he relaxed into the environment and the solitude. His shoulders lowered as his muscles released tension. Leaning against a boulder, his head tilted slightly backward, making his neck seem long, his throat vulnerable. After a moment he shifted…fidgeted…grimaced… Prentiss knew he was having trouble getting comfortable against the unforgiving granite.

"Hotch, lean against me." She saw the hesitation; saw the ground she'd gained in relaxing him vanish at the thought of physical contact.

A line creased her brow. _With this wind picking up, the fog'll burn off in an hour or so. Once we leave here, he won't let anyone in; he'll put up all his barriers. Probably reinforce them, too. We don't have time to waste on shyness._

Her natural mischief and impatience combined, making her tone that of a Catholic school principal. "For God's sake, Hotch! I'm offering you my arm, not my life on a platter! Lean back, get comfortable, and we'll start again. Do it!"

Emily would never admit how surprised she was when her Unit Chief's eyes opened, giving her a look of wide, unguarded wonder…and a touch of respect, she thought…before he obeyed. He didn't exactly snuggle down, but in his own, reserved way Hotch adjusted position. Back resting against his teammate's side, her arm around his shoulders, he gave a long-suffering sigh.

It was a heady experience to see her boss take orders; Prentiss tried to keep the triumph out of her voice when his warm leanness settled against her. "Good. Now close your eyes and clear your mind." She realized in this position she could feel his ribs expand with each breath. She could also feel the tension in his muscles. It was much easier to gage his state of relaxation.

Her voice lost the snap and crackle that had made Hotch mind. Low and gentle, she coaxed him into allowing their location to lead him to a calmer mental place. She closed her eyes and let her own imagery surface, feeling herself fall under the spell of unspoiled nature. And hoping she could take him with her.

"Breathe…slow…even…" She felt his body obey. "You're free…nothing can hurt you here…Breathe…breathe…You're lighter than air…no one can touch you…no one can tame you…" She felt the release as his weight sagged against her. Her voice became a whisper, barely audible above the breeze. She might herself have been made of wind.

"You're asleep and safe…safe…" Prentiss opened her eyes and marveled at the peace that had descended over a face that, although handsome, was rarely untroubled. "You're dreaming…dreaming…" She hardly dared breathe herself.

"Where are you…Where are you…?...Tell me where…"

She kept murmuring the question until Hotch's throat moved. He swallowed. When he spoke, it was a softer, more velvety voice than she'd ever heard him use. _He's with me. He's in a safe place…_

"Woods…warm…summer…" A beatific smile touched his face, making it seem bathed in light. She glanced up, half expecting to see that sun had broken through the fog. It hadn't, but the mist was thinning. His words brought her attention back to him. "Family…well-fed…healthy…my people…my pack…"

Prentiss barely had time to register the concept of Hotch having a 'pack' before his smile vanished. She felt him tense and shiver. An innate sense told her it wasn't cold that had entered her leader's awareness. It was fear. Terror. Instinct made her tighten her hold on him.

"You're safe…safe…no one can hurt you…where are you now?...Who's with you?"

The lines of Hotch's face expressed the kind of tragedy she'd only seen him endure once before. She gave her head a small shake, dislodging the image of a man cradling the lifeless body of his mate, weeping for shattered love and broken dreams…hopeless… "Breathe…look around…where are you…?"

"Nooooo…" The word came out on a low wail. Prentiss heard grief so deep she could understand how it might follow a soul through eternity.

 _Be careful. This is where you either lose him, or you find out what's bothering him…maybe what that old fortuneteller saw…_ "What's happening…what do you see?…tell me…tell me…"

Emily's arms gripped her boss, but her strength wasn't enough to hold him. With the wrenching lunge of a creature throwing itself against time and fortune and all odds, Hotch tore free, his voice a howl of pure rage and incalculable, timeless sorrow…

… "My _children_! They're forcing my children to fight! They're forcing my children to kill each other! _Nooooooo_ …"

Eyes wide and fixed, Prentiss saw Hotch land on his hands and knees, sobs wracking his body.

His inhuman howl making her want to join him and keen to the skies for the loss of his…

...pups.


	6. Descent

Prentiss hit the ground beside Hotch on her knees.

She reached toward the man she thought she knew. He was on all fours, his body heaving with unfettered… _animalistic!_...grief. Her fingers stopped inches from him, uncertain. _It's dangerous to touch a wild thing in the grip of passion, of any strong emotion…They can turn on you…_ She shook her head… _But this isn't a beast. It's Hotch!_

 _Isssss it?_ The question whispered in the wind, curling in subtle tones through the keening sounds coming from her teammate's throat.

"It _**is**_!" She snapped the reply out loud, angry at the suggestion that her leader was anything other than the honest, compassionate, intelligent man she knew him to be. "Hotch…Hotch…" She leaned over him, taking his shoulders in a fierce grip.

For a moment, for the duration of a breath, her fingers flashed her the tactile message that she was grasping thick, warm fur; the luxurious pelt of a healthy animal in his prime.

For an equal moment Hotch felt wings cloak him in a dark and alien comfort. He stiffened. He'd cautioned his young to be on the lookout for the sky-death birds that could swoop down with talons and slashing beaks. But this? This felt…different…safe…enveloping…

It was only for a moment. The impressions flashed past and winked out of existence faster than thought. And in their wake it was just a woman trying to comfort a man.

"Hotch…Hotch…it's alright. I'm here. It's okay…It's okay…" Prentiss felt ineffectual. Common words had no power in these _un_ common circumstances. They were swallowed up by the vastness of the sky, by the strangeness of what had happened. Yet they were all she had.

"Hotch…Hotch…It's me, Emily…How can I help?...Tell me!...Come back…Come back to me…"

His sobbing lessened, then shuddered to a stop. Harsh gasping replaced it. For all that the exhausted sounds being wrung from his lungs were less brutally cruel, they were nonetheless disturbing. They shouldn't be issuing from a human throat.

"Hotch…Hotch…" Prentiss bent over him, resting her cheek against his panting back. She closed her eyes, letting his respiration raise and lower her. She didn't know where it originated, but she had the urge to envelope him, to spread herself over him like a protective shield against the elements. Pinioned wings flashed through her mind. Dark-feathered. Strong. _The fortuneteller was right: I miss my wings…_

"Prentiss?" Hotch sounded breathless.

"I'm here. It's over. It's okay. It's over. It's over."

The Unit Chief recalled Morgan saying those same words at one time. Then, as now, he'd been wrapped in a teammate's arms. Not an affectionate hug; more supportive…the result of a desire to transfer comfort and strength from subordinate to leader. _From pack member to alpha…_ He shook his head, struggling to clear it of scents and sounds and grief he couldn't explain.

Hotch straightened, sitting back on folded legs, hands braced on his thighs. His head was still lowered, fear-sweat beading his brow and making his hair fall in lank strands.

Emily backed off. Still kneeling, she surveyed him with wary regard. "Are you okay?"

He nodded, but didn't meet her eyes.

"Wanna talk about it?"

Hotch went still, except for the hitching motion in his chest that said his breathing hadn't completely recovered from panic. Prentiss would have given almost anything to know what was running through his mind. Profiling skills weren't applicable in such unique circumstances. So she settled for simple human skills instead, putting a gentle hand on his shoulder. She tried to ignore the slight trembling beneath her palm.

"Hotch? Talk to me?"

He swallowed. She saw the massive effort it took for him to ground himself in the here and now. At last he cast her a sidelong look, quickly averted. " 'M okay…'m okay…'m okay…"

Prentiss knew him well enough to understand it was a defense mechanism. The sad, lost look in the single glance he'd given her made her think Hotch wasn't trying to block her out. He just needed time to process this experience.

For that matter, so did she.

"Okay…good…" Emily stood, brushing off the knees of her jeans. When the Unit Chief remained where he was, she hesitated…and then extended her hand. "C'mon, Hotch. The fog's burned off. We should get back."

She was surprised when he let her help him up. Almost as surprised as when he'd obeyed her previous order to lean on her. Standing together, they looked out at the view that until then had been obscured, veiled in mist.

Under a crystal blue sky, the deep forest of the Northwest extended unbroken in all directions.

"Reid must have got it wrong." Hotch's voice began a little shaky, but gained strength as though drawing it from the beauty of their surroundings. "This area's a lot bigger than a 15 to 20 mile swatch."

Prentiss nodded. "And if this doesn't qualify as a mountain, I don't know what does."

XXXXXXXXXXX

Emily tried to call Reid as they began the trek back to the trailhead, but her phone had no reception. Neither did Hotch's.

Aaron shrugged. "He said there'd be spotty service in here. Try again as we get lower."

They reached the base of their mountain sooner than expected.

The fog had increased during the descent. Prentiss gave Hotch a puzzled look, but her boss seemed distracted, preoccupied with his own private thoughts. As they made their way back toward the road, she reached Reid on the first ring.

"Hi! Are you guys ready for me to come get you?"

"Yeah, that'd be great, Reid. How was Microsoft?"

"Interesting, but ultimately more of a business than a creative think-tank, ya know?"

Prentiss snorted. "I'll take your word for it." She had a feeling that there weren't enough people on the planet of sufficiently high IQ to form what the BAU's resident genius would consider a think-tank.

"Did you guys have a good hike?"

"Yeah. Where we were, you could see forever and the sky was clear. Fog must've rolled in again? I mean, it's back."

A short silence fell as Reid reviewed the wealth of data he'd accessed at idle moments concerning the weather situation. "No…the fog hasn't lifted and won't for a while. Like J.J. said. There's no wind. And…" His voice took on an injured tone. "…you couldn't have been that high up. The highest elevation in that area isn't even above the tree line."

Prentiss felt Hotch stumble beside her. The two agents exchanged glances. Something told Emily that if she argued the point, more would come out about their experience on the mountain… _And it_ _ **was**_ _a mountain, Reid!_...than her boss would care to reveal. She clamped down on the impulse to enter into a debate. "So we'll be at the road in about 20 minutes. That work for you?"

"Sure. I'll be there."

As Reid cut the connection, his indefatigable brain began to replay and inspect every word Prentiss had said.

Something wasn't right.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

By the time the hikers reached the waiting SUV, Emily was deep into Observe-Hotch-Secretly mode.

The Unit Chief hadn't said more than two sentences since overhearing the conversation with Reid. She knew he needed time to process things, but she didn't want him to recede into some solitary place where no one could reach him.

She needn't have worried.

When Hotch, ever the gentleman, opened the vehicle's back door for her, he followed her in, taking a seat beside her, leaving Reid alone in the front.

The young doctor raised his brows as he watched his teammates settle in via the rearview mirror. When his eyes connected with Emily's, she gave her head the faintest shake. _Don't ask._

They traveled in silence until Reid spoke. "Rossi said that crab house place is supposed to be really good. It's almost dinner time. Should we just go there now?"

"No." It was the first word Hotch had said since entering the SUV. He was abashed at his abruptness and tried to make amends with excuses. "I'd like to clean up…and I'm kind of tired. I think I'll pass. Get room service or something."

Prentiss's heart sank. _He's going to isolate himself. He's going to bury whatever gave him all that pain and struggle through it all by himself. Damn…_ A moment later, relief flooded her.

Hotch's dark eyes fastened on hers. "How about you, Prentiss? Feel like calling it a day?"

The subtext was clear. _Please turn down Rossi's invitation. Join me instead? Help me?_

"Room service sounds good." She felt honored that the Unit Chief might confide in her. So much so that a little of her mischievous nature returned, rearing its head in Spencer's direction. "I'm kind of beat, too. Climbing that _mountain_ …" She gave their driver a defiant look in the rearview. "…takes it out of you."

Spencer frowned.

Something just wasn't right…


	7. Outdoor Vegas

Reid pulled up to the curb in front of their hotel and watched as Hotch and Prentiss got out.

"You guys sure you don't want to come eat? Rossi'll probably pick up the tab…" His voice trailed off. Both agents were already headed toward the building's main entrance, trailing mumbled excuses in their wake.

The young genius's eyes narrowed. There was something dazed about the way the Unit Chief was moving. And something proprietary about the way Emily was keeping pace at his side. She cast an apologetic look back at Spencer, but the pair disappeared through the door without further explanation.

As one level of his prodigious cognitive processes devoted itself to deciphering his teammates' behavior, Reid pulled out his cell to see if anyone might need a ride to Chandler's Crab House.

XXXXXXXX

As Hotch and Prentiss stepped into the elevator, Emily hesitated, finger poised over the number 5, the floor where her room was. She knew Hotch's was on 7. She wasn't sure if she was supposed to follow him. In fact, looking at his preoccupied expression, she wasn't sure of much.

 _Did he just want someone to make sure he made it across the lobby? Or to his floor? Or did he decide he_ _ **does**_ _want to talk about what happened? Or did he change his mind? Or does he…?_

"I'm sorry." Hotch shook himself out of his distraction. "I really do need to take a shower. Come to my room in about ten minutes?" Even if she hadn't wanted to, Emily couldn't have said 'no' to the sad eyes waiting for a reply. Something deep in their dark recesses said disappointment was all too often the outcome when help of a personal nature was needed.

"Sure, Hotch. Ten minutes." She pressed 5 and then 7, relieved to know she hadn't misinterpreted her leader's implied request that she forego a seafood dinner in a city known for its marine cuisine.

As though he'd jumped on her train of thought, Hotch spoke up. "I'll order room service when you get there." He retreated back into his private thoughts, only rousing when they reached the fifth floor where Emily stepped out into the hallway.

"Prentiss?"

She paused, half expecting him to say he'd rather be alone after all. "Yeah?"

"Thank you."

The doors closed before she could say, other than maintaining discretion in Reid's presence, she didn't feel she'd done anything worthy of gratitude.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

"Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy!" Garcia bounced with joy in the passenger seat of the SUV.

It had been a near-perfect day in Penelope-land.

Her Luscious Latte-Skinned God had accompanied her in a quixotic journey through the rabbit warren of shops that comprised Seattle's Pike Place Market. It soon became apparent that for Morgan the main attraction was observing Garcia's reactions and interactions. He spent most of their time together with an amused grin engendered by her innocent delight at each and every discovery. They'd wandered without rhyme or reason, encountering characters and locales that might have sprung from the pages of fairy stories, or Dickens, or Harry Potter.

The tech analyst had pounced on vintage jewelry in dusty, velvet-lined cubbyholes that themselves looked intriguingly antique. They'd sampled exotically spiced teas, and ales from local micro-breweries. They'd trekked up and down narrow, death-defying staircases leading to shops specializing in Oriental kites, kimonos, and garden implements.

Morgan was beginning to think he'd never be able to pry Penelope away from a shelf of eyeglass frames embellished with rhinestones in every color of the rainbow when Reid's call had reminded them that it was dinnertime.

"You guys need a ride?" The young doctor was circling the narrow, waterfront streets, unable to find parking. "If you do, you better catch me in the next couple of circuits. People don't look too thrilled to see a black SUV doing super-slow drive-bys."

"C'mon, Baby Girl! I'm starving." Morgan was also reaching his limit when it came to acting as a porter for the numerous shopping bags Garcia had accumulated.

The prospect of leaving her new, all-time favorite locale didn't dampen her spirits in the least. Once in the passenger seat beside Reid, new enthusiasm surfaced.

"Oh boy, oh boy , oh boy! The Culinary Italian King beckons us to a gastronomic adventure!" she crowed, rummaging through one of her bags. She extracted a curious-looking book bound in leather and rawhide.

"What's that?" Reid shot her an inquisitive glance as he navigated his way toward the restaurant Rossi had chosen.

"It's an Italian cookbook from the early 1800s. A present for our Roman Knight."

"Is it for real? If it is, it should be in a museum somewhere."

Garcia's eyes widened. "You don't think it's a fake, do you?" She twisted around to confront Morgan in the back seat. "Did you let me buy a fake, Mon Ami?"

Derek's laugh was deep and genuine. "I let you buy a nice gift that didn't break your budget, Mama." He gave her a reassuring smile. "Rossi'll love it. Guaranteed."

"Well…what about the other stuff I got? Did I get taken or…"

"Baby Girl!" Morgan cut off what threatened to become a deluge of unnecessary doubt. "You got nice, thoughtful gifts for a good price." He fished a small charm strung on a leather thong from under his shirt, giving it a fond look. "Hey…I like mine. So will the others."

Reid squinted into the rearview. "What is that?"

Basking in Morgan's appreciation, Garcia preened a little. "It's a glass charm made from the volcanic ash from when Mount St. Helen went ballistic. It's a little totem pole." Her smile grew mischievous. "I got you one, too, but it's an anchor."

The young genius immediately made a connection. "Is that because Madame Sobrani told me I was a sailor in some mythical past life?"

"Yup. And I got Prentiss a bird and J.J. an angel."

Reid nodded. "And you got Rossi that cookbook."

"And I got Hotch a really cool kite for him to play with Jack, 'cause our White Knight's, you know, kind of uncomfortable with getting attention."

"Yeah. About that…" Spencer chewed on his lip, hoping he wasn't betraying anything confidential…and deciding he wasn't. "Hotch and Prentiss won't be joining us for dinner." He glanced into the rearview mirror, catching Morgan's eye. "They were kind of weird when I picked them up. Hotch wanted to go back to the hotel."

Derek shrugged. "Probably wanted to dive into paperwork." His lips lifted in a sardonic grin. "Or maybe he wanted to get back into something comfortable…you know…like a tie."

"He wanted Emily to stay with him."

Three pairs of eyebrows rose along with a host of gossip-worthy possibilities.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

As Morgan, Garcia and Reid were entertaining various scenarios that would account for their Unit Chief's uncharacteristic behavior, Prentiss, hair still damp from her own shower, knocked on the door of room 712.

It was opened by a somewhat rumpled, Hotch. He stood aside, nodding her in. "Thanks for coming."

"Sure. Anytime." She stood in the center of his room watching him close and lock the door. He hadn't made eye contact at all; something Emily found troubling. _He doesn't want to be 'read.' He's not ready to let anyone in on whatever's happening to him. Go slow. Lull him into feeling safe._ She sighed. For someone who regularly put his body at risk on the job, Aaron Hotchner was almost obsessive about protecting himself emotionally.

He heard her sigh as he turned from the door and finally looked up. "If you've got other things you'd rather do, it's okay. You can go. I'll understand."

And that's when Prentiss's admonition to herself to 'go slow' flew out the window. She was tired from the long hike, confused about the elevation and clear sky they'd experienced that didn't jive with the current weather conditions, and she was hungry. Irritation surfaced.

"Hotch, I'm here because I want to be. But if you're going to dance around the fact that something really weird happened up on that mountain, then…then…" As quickly as it had flared, her frustration faded.

"Oh, hell, Hotch." Her voice went soft. "Just talk to me. Outdoor Vegas…remember? What happened up there, stays up there."

He did. With a slow, sad nod and a worried look, Hotch sat on the edge of his bed, stared at his own feet, and began.


	8. Visions of the Past

Prentiss waited.

Hotch kept his eyes trained on the nice, safe floor. He broadcast his discomfort by knotting his fingers together, rubbing the knuckles…realizing he was doing it, and then clasping them together to stifle the impulse. After catching himself performing this sequence for the third time, he crossed his arms, effectively putting an end to what he thought was an overt sign of his emotional state.

As soon as he did, Emily caught her breath. _**That's**_ _his tell! He doesn't know it and he thinks he's covering his tracks. He is_ _ **really**_ _upset! And it would be so, so,_ _ **so**_ _easy to scare him off right now…_

…which is why she moved with slow, deliberate steps to the Bentwood chair tucked into the small, utilitarian desk a few feet from the foot of the bed. _No sudden moves._ She grimaced at the thought. _Good God, he's not a feral thing that'll bolt._

 _Are you sssssssure…?_

Ice spidered its way up Prentiss's spine. It was suspiciously like the same sound that had hovered at the edge of her hearing on the mountaintop. _But we're not there now. So it has to be me…it has to be my imagination._

Steadying herself, she pulled the desk chair around to face Hotch. After a moment's consideration, she moved it closer, sitting knee to knee with her Unit Chief.

He darted her a look from beneath his brows, but remained leaning over, contemplating the beige carpeting as though it were a fascinating oracle with answers to all the riddles of the universe.

Prentiss waited.

After a moment, Hotch cleared his throat. "I…I, uh…" He swallowed and, finally looking up, dove headfirst into an evasive maneuver. "Do you want to order room service?"

Emily studied her boss's face. _Nice try, but you won't distract me with burgers and fries._ "I could eat, but I think we should talk first. That's why I'm here…right?"

Hotch's head dropped again, returning to his all-consuming relationship with the carpet. "Yeah…right." She was cutting off all his escape routes, driving him back against a wall where all he could do was face her. He hated it. And he was tremendously grateful for it.

"Prentiss, what did you see…hear…when we were out _there_?"

In an unwitting lapse into her own psychological playground, Emily demonstrated her own tell: her eyes went distant as she expelled a long, slow breath through slightly pursed lips. Hotch read it and was, again, oddly grateful. It meant that she'd been affected by the experience, too. But her next words blew his tentative grasp of that small comfort to smithereens.

"I saw mist and felt we were in a wide open space. I was fine until you, well…you know."

His eyes were as desolate as the Siberian tundra. "I _don't_ know. That's why I'm asking."

Prentiss ducked her head. "All right." This would be harder than just lending a ready ear. "I tried to lead you through a cognitive interview. It was weird to begin with, because the memories I wanted to access weren't real. They were either dreams, or suggestions planted by that Madame Whatsis the other night." Her eyes flicked up, saw Hotch's own were watching her with intense focus. "When it got _really_ weird was when…" She swallowed. "…when memories _did_ surface. And they _were_ real. No dream suggestion would have been that powerful." Her voice softened to a whisper. "Your memories were _real_. And…and they weren't quite human."

Hotch's lips were pressed white with tension. His brows had twisted upward at their inner corners, giving him an expression so forlorn, for a moment Prentiss _did_ think of a lost puppy… The only comfort she thought might help was repetition. "They were _real_. The things you remembered… _Real_ , Hotch."

From deep in his throat, the Unit Chief's words were a cross between a guttural growl and a strangely canine whine. "They can't be…I don't _want_ them to be."

His knees were so close to her own; she placed her hands on them. A light, gentle touch. It was a simple, human impulse to soothe.

"It got even stranger, though…didn't it? Hotch?" He nodded, all the lines of his face angling downward in sorrow. Emily pressed on. "I got…impressions…I think they were, anyway. I…I touched you and I thought I felt…" Her mouth went dry with the memory. "…I felt like I was trying to hold back something big…and powerful…and…" His eyes were boring into hers now, daring her to say what he _knew_ she'd felt. "…and covered with heavy, thick fur."

Prentiss could barely see the irises of his eyes. His pupils had expanded; velvet-dark pools surrounded by the tiniest rim of oak-brown. If eyes were the windows to the soul, at the moment Hotch's was a black and depthless place.

"I couldn't breathe." His voice was faint and hoarse, as though someone had choked him with a too-tight collar. "The more I tried to reach them, the worse it got. I couldn't save them. I wasn't supposed to. They did it to make me frantic…to drive me mad. They were saving me for last, so I'd…I'd…" To Emily's horror, her leader's eyes filled; tears trembling on the verge of spilling. "…So I'd have nothing left to live for. No reason to hold back. So I'd fight and tear and slash whatever they set me against. Because all my children were dead. Because I watched them die, crying for me to save them."

"Hotch…" Prentiss felt her own eyes growing damp. "…what were you? In your memory…what were you?"

He shook his head. "I was the leader…the father…the one who should have kept them all safe." His voice broke. "I didn't know things like that could happen. I didn't know there were creatures in the world who found pleasure in doing things like that to others…"

"But in your vision…in your dream…what _were_ you, Hotch?"

He uncrossed his arms at last, letting his shoulders slump in defeat. "I was a failure…I was nothing…I was dead, too…"

Prentiss stared. His tears refused to fall. He was frozen, reliving some ancient horror that defied explanation. She raised one hand and caressed his shoulder, feeling useless against such pain. _What would Rossi do? What would his best friend do?_

Without a word, she stood up, and went to the mini-bar. As she poured three tiny bottles of Scotch into a glass, her mind felt numb. _If I accept what he's saying, then the world just got a whole lot stranger. And maybe it kind of explains why I don't feel at home in my own church anymore._

She brought the triple-strength drink to Hotch and pressed it into his nerveless fingers, trying to think of something to say that would erase the deathly shock from his features.

"You're not the only one who felt something, I dunno…otherworldly?...out there, Hotch."

He blinked, bringing himself back to the present.

"You know I told you I always dreamed about flying, about having wings? Well…"

"I know, Prentiss. I felt them." The rest of what she'd been about to say froze on her lips. "You tried to cover me with them. I saw them."

The mini-bar in Hotch's room was seriously depleted that night.


	9. Patterns

"They give you any idea what happened out there? You sure you're not reading something into nothin', kid?"

Rossi sat across the table from Reid, the rest of the team, minus Hotch and Prentiss, arrayed around the weathered, wooden disk that strove to look like something pillaged from an antique shipwreck.

"No…" The young genius was adamant about the strangeness he'd felt when he'd driven the agents back to the hotel. "…something weird was going on. I think it was affecting Hotch more than Emily. He was really quiet…"

"He's _always_ quiet," Morgan interjected. After a pleasant day with Garcia, plumbing the depths of Pike Place Market, he didn't want anything dark rearing its head among them.

"Not like this. I got the feeling something had happened to him, and Prentiss was on guard against anyone finding out. She was…" He shrugged. "…I dunno. Kind of _protective_ …"

"She's _always_ protective." This time J.J. stepped in, reminding Reid that their female alpha had a history of placing herself between her teammates and whatever harm might threaten them.

"Not like _this!_ They were…they were just _different_." It was a lame finish, but Spencer was at a loss when it came to describing the disturbing aura of emotion he'd sensed around Hotch, a man who exerted a lot of energy into shielding his inner landscape and the feelings that sprouted from it.

"Oh! Oh!..." Garcia leaned in, voice furtive, eyes hopeful. "You don't think, you know…Captain My Captain and our Raven-Haired Beauty are…you know… _?_ " Expectant, she glanced from face to face. Lurid gossip would be the cherry-on-top of this delightful day.

Derisive snorts from several directions dashed her hopes. "Bossman?" "Prentiss?" "No way." "Fffffthhhp…" "Yeah, right."

Reid struggled against letting the conversation veer off into lascivious territory. "It wasn't like that! But something _was_ going on between them. I'm not imagining stuff, guys." He began chewing his lips, a sure sign of distress.

"Okay, okay. We believe you. Something's up with Hotch and Prentiss." Rossi continued scanning his menu, torn between indulging in lobster or going for what looked like a really world-class salmon fillet. "Let's give them a chance to relax and then I'll call and make sure everything's fine." It was clear from the senior agent's tone that he expected nothing less. "In the meantime, let's enjoy dinner. It's on me, by the way."

Smiles circled the table, except for Reid. Even in the shadow of gastronomic bliss, his brain wasn't given to abandoning unsolved puzzles.

And he had a feeling a monumental one was brewing right under their noses.

XXXXXXXXXXX

A triple-strength Scotch on an empty stomach took the edge off of Hotch in visible ways.

His muscles eased, shoulders relaxing, respiration smoothing. He even met Emily's eyes more frequently and easily.

 _Now I see why Rossi keeps this stuff handy_ , she mused as she sipped at her own double-shot of tequila. _It's like a foot-in-the-door. Hotch won't close you out completely, but it's still up to you to edge your way in deeper._

As unsettling as the experience on the mountain had been, Prentiss found she was having a much easier time accepting it. _It's like all the weird stuff in life: you have to stash it away and ignore it until it doesn't affect you so much._ A hopeful smile touched her lips. _Maybe Hotch just needs to be reminded about compartmentalizing? Worth a try anyway…_

"So, Hotch…" He blinked up at her. The alcohol was speeding through his blood. But still… Emily gave a deep, heartfelt sigh at the lingering sorrow in her Unit Chief's eyes. "So we both had some kind of…I dunno…hallucination or something up on that mountain. And it's not gonna be easy to forget, but…" Her voice grew earnest. "…we're not up there anymore. We're back where things make sense and I don't have feathers and you don't have fur. And the fog is still covering the whole region. Wings and clear skies and w-wolves…" She stuttered over the word, giving the lie to her act of easy acceptance. "…they're far away from us…from the here and now."

The mournfulness in Hotch's dark eyes deepened. He gave his head one slow, slightly drunken shake, negating her entire argument.

"It's different for you, Prentiss. You're moving forward. I'm not. I lost my wife. While I was fighting Foyet, I didn't know if Jack was dead or alive. I didn't know at the time what made me so…so…" He ducked his head, ashamed. "…so savage that I'd tear a man apart with my bare hands. But something inside me was screaming. And I didn't understand it. 'Til now."

"Awwww, Hotch…no." The strangely surreal day was blurring the boundaries of reality. But Emily thought she understood what her boss was trying to say.

And then…he said it.

"It was the same thing repeating itself. My wife. My children. Killed in front of me. Their lives, my love for them, their trust and reliance turned into a weapon against me." He snuffled back a sob and stared down into his nearly empty glass. "Same pattern. Just like what that woman…that seer…said. Same thing… Same."

There was no way to explain the repetitive tragedy of Hotch's life. _Or lives_!... The possibility of such a link ghosted its way through Prentiss's thoughts. _He has to tuck it away, or it'll eat him alive…_

She had to argue, had to find a way for him to move on. "If we can't find a way to explain what happened, whether it was up on that mountain, or when you fought the Reaper, then we have to let it slide. You have to put it in a box and lock it up so you can live the rest of your life free and clear, Hotch. I mean…" Emily shrugged one uneasy shoulder. "…what else can you do?"

The Unit Chief had gone very, very still. Prentiss hoped he'd taken her words to heart and was mulling them over…finding truth and purpose in them…deciding to abandon everything ugly this stay in Seattle had engendered…

Hotch swallowed, looked up at her. "What else can I do?" He began shaking his head and wouldn't stop. "I can't just walk away. Not from this. Not yet."

Emily stared into the dark eyes that were such an odd combination of feral and deeply human pain.

"I either have to go up to that mountain again, or I have to see that fortuneteller again." His whole demeanor begged for sympathy, for reassurance that he wasn't already as mad as a wolf forced to witness his pups' deaths.

"Hotch, I don't know if we could ever find that…place…again." Prentiss glanced in the general direction of the hiking trail they'd set out for so casually, never expecting to stumble into some sort of distillation of soul-memories.

His eyes didn't blink; wouldn't release her. "Then we have to go back to _her_ …. Come with me?"

Before Emily could respond, Hotch's phone rang.


	10. Into the Night

Hotch stared at his phone, his Scotch-enhanced brain slow to shift gears.

"Who is it?" Prentiss craned her neck, trying to see the caller ID.

"Rossi."

The phone clamored for attention. Hotch blinked at it.

Emily kept her voice non-judgmental. "You don't want to answer?" The Unit Chief gave his head a slow, regretful shake, but kept his eyes focused on the importunate device. "You want me to answer it for you?" His brows knitted together, pondering this previously unconsidered option.

Prentiss reached a tentative hand out. When no resistance was offered, she took the cell from her boss's fingers, keeping him in her field of vision in case she needed clues about how he'd like her to respond, as she brought the phone to her ear. "Hey, Rossi."

A few beats of silence told her that the senior agent hadn't been expecting someone other than the cell's owner to answer. "Prentiss."

"Yes."

A note of concern crept into Rossi's voice "Where's Hotch?"

"He's here. He's fine. Are you guys still at dinner?" _Change the subject! Get it off Hotch._

"Just finishing up. You guys missed a good time." _She's changing the subject! Reid was right. Something's off._ "How was your day out in the wilds of the great Pacific Northwest?" _Redirect. Bring it back around to Aaron from an oblique angle._

"Good. It was good. It's really beautiful here. I guess we wanted to extend the peaceful feeling a little longer. Neither of us was quite in the mood for a group dinner…you know?" _Nice try, Rossi. Blocked you before you could circle back to him._

A pause followed as Rossi's profiler's antennae tested every nuance, every tone. "Well, I'm glad you had a good day. Tell Hotch I might drop in on him a little later. And if you feel like a nightcap, I'm usually up late. You know…time difference from Quantico." Dave added the last when he realized how transparent his concern was. _I hope you can clue me in, Emily. But if you can't or won't, I'll be checking up on both of you._

"Sure…Thanks, Rossi." Prentiss saw the darting motion of Hotch's eyes, looking toward the door…which would lead to the hallway…which would lead out of the hotel…and onto the street…and back to Madame Sobrani's parlor. She closed the connection and handed the cell back to its rightful owner. "He said he'd stop by to see you later…"

Hotch nodded, slipping the phone into his pocket. "Then I guess we should get going." He raised eyes filled with dark questions to her. She still hadn't confirmed that she'd accompany him.

The two agents studied each other for a few beats. Prentiss saw a man who wasn't as drunk as she thought he should have been. _Emotion is burning through the alcohol._ She saw a man who needed answers as much as he dreaded them. _We only have until the fog lifts. Our time is limited. We better make good use of what's left to us._ She nodded. "Okay. Let's go."

Hotch's eyes were fixed on his teammate. He squeezed them closed, forcing himself to refocus.

For a moment, as Prentiss stood up, he'd thought the shadows behind her had rustled with a dry, feathery rush.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

Standing in the foyer of Chandler's Crab House, where he'd gone for privacy while calling Hotch, Rossi frowned into the middle distance as he pocketed his phone.

Something odd had definitely reared its head, so Reid was on the right track. One corner of his lips twitched in faint humor. But whatever it was, he was sure Garcia's salacious suggestion wasn't at the root of it. _But_ _ **something**_ _must have happened during their hike. Something disturbing enough to make them want to hide out and lick each other's wounds before rejoining the rest of the human race._

A chill flitted across his shoulders as he returned to the main dining room. He wasn't sure why his mind had gone immediately to an image of an animal cowering down as it tried to heal itself.

He shook it off. _I probably should have talked to Hotch last night after that episode with the fortuneteller, but…who knew? And he was exhausted. Fell asleep at the table._ Rossi sighed. _And that maybe should have been a warning sign that mentally he was trying to escape something._ He adopted a calm smile as he approached the others.

"Hotch and Prentiss are fine. They just didn't feel like a group outing. So…who's for dessert?"

A confection-laden cart trundling its way around the dining area served to temporarily divert attention from any mystery that might surround their absent colleagues…

… _And I'll wake Aaron up later, if I have to. We'll talk out whatever's bothering him. It'll all work out fine._ His shoulders slumped as he dug into a slice of Boston cream pie. _But I really hate all that occult mumbo-jumbo…_

XXXXXXXXXXX

It had been raining the first time they'd visited Madame Sobrani. This evening, the only moisture in the air was the soft, pearly fog, drifting and curling in columns worthy of London's famous pea soup version.

"Are you sure you remember how to get there?" Prentiss was relying on Hotch's background as a former Seattleite to be able to navigate the cottony mist that turned street signs into unreadable blobs until you were within inches of them. She was also wondering about the effect of the Scotch overdose she'd engineered. She hadn't been expecting to go on an urban hike along the waterfront. She'd rather thought she'd be leaving her boss groggy and peaceful in his room instead.

Now Hotch was moving through the darkened streets and alleys with a surety that made Emily wonder if he _did_ possess a canine ability to scent his way to a desired destination. Just as she was about to question their progress again, a familiar, acid-green, Egyptian-ish eye ghosted out of the fog, resolving into the signature logo for Madame Sobrani's Parlor of Past Possibilities.

Prentiss's brows rose. "Wow. I guess you _do_ know how to get around in Seattle weather."

Hotch's response was an inscrutable sidelong look as he halted outside the recessed door flanked by windows hung with black velvet panels. He'd been reluctant to enter the establishment the previous evening. This time was so much worse.

He was glad he hadn't eaten. His felt his stomach leaping and somersaulting, wrapping itself around his spine, acrobatic with anxiety.

Even in the murky atmosphere, Emily saw his pupils dilate again; twin pools of velvet as black as the drapes masking Madame Sobrani's secrets.

She looped her arm through his.

"We can do this. Together."

Hotch's grateful nod was minimal, truncated by his growing dread. But he had no choice. Something deep inside needed to hear that the cycle the old seer had spoken of could be broken. _And that means some level of me is accepting that this might be…_ _ **real**_ _… But I don't believe in this kind of thing!_

Feeling as though all his moorings had been set afloat, as though his very foundation had sprouted cracks, Hotch let Prentiss lead him into the incense-scented parlor.


	11. The Language of Birds

Stepping out of the fog and over the threshold, all the tiny hairs on the back of Hotch's neck sprang to alarmed attention.

Prentiss felt the peculiar lifting, weightless sensation that made her want to rise to her toes and spread her arms. She quelled the impulse, shooting her Unit Chief a sidelong glance instead.

His head had lowered, neck jutting forward. His lips were slightly parted, respiration visibly increased. He was glowering. His whole aspect was that of a creature on alert.

The two agents paused, listening for sounds of occupancy. Quiet voices were coming from deep within the small shop.

"Hello! Anyone home?" Prentiss almost felt guilty for her sense of exhilaration when clearly Hotch was feeling dread. "Hello? Anyone?"

The soft, percussive rattling of the beaded curtain shielding Madame Sobrani's inner sanctum signaled an approach. Emily still had a light hold on Hotch's arm. When the proprietress of the parlor emerged, features craggy in the shadowed light, Prentiss felt his muscles stiffen beneath her touch. Keeping her eyes fixed on the fortuneteller, she moved her fingers in a subtle, stroking motion. The old woman's gaze focused on Emily's hand, making the agent realize her action…meant to soothe…was the same one she'd employ to reassure a family pet.

Prentiss stopped.

The hawkish visage of the Sobrani had both agents expecting to hear a harsh demand for them to explain their presence. She regarded them for a moment from eyes that were sunken in cavernous dark. She made a clicking sound in the back of her throat and advanced. She stood within inches of Hotch and spoke…

…in a warm, consoling tone that nonetheless made the Unit Chief's breath hitch in his chest.

"Poor boy…poor, struggling boy…you are destined to return. And I left you without hope last time. I did not know you were so close to the…well…no matter. Come through. This way." With deft fingers she disengaged Prentiss's hand from Hotch's arm. Exerting a firm grip on his wrist, the seer pulled him toward the alcove curtained by a waterfall of beads, heading back toward the room where she conducted her readings.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

The voices they'd heard when they'd first entered the shop resolved into a radio broadcast.

The juxtaposition of something as banal as an AM talk show against the incense-soaked shadows of Madame Sobrani's lair might have been jarring, but the language wasn't English. Prentiss's brows drew together. She leveled a curious gaze at their hostess.

"Hungarian. You're Hungarian."

"No. I am not." The fortuneteller waved a dismissive hand. "The radio show is." Emily was about to say more, but the Sobrani's sharp eye lit on her, arresting her words. "You understand many tongues, yes? Yet you are not of those places. But…do you know your _own_ tongue?"

Prentiss blinked. "English. English is my native language."

The old woman blew out a phooffing noise of contempt. "You do _not_ know. I thought as much. Sit." She motioned Prentiss toward a chair…the little table in the center of the room now had three…as though a company of two had been expected.

The Sobrani pushed Hotch into the chair beside Emily's. Grasping the Unit Chief's jaw, she looked into his eyes, peering deep. "I will talk to your friend first. She is…" Her lips lifted with unsettling humor. "… _flighty_. Be patient. Think with care of what you have already done in this life."

Hotch pressed his spine up against the back of his chair, but kept silent. He wondered if he smelled of Scotch and if this strange woman knew he wasn't quite up to his usual mental acuity. He decided he didn't care. After what he and Prentiss had experienced, he felt they both deserved some leeway when it came to judging how they were coping.

Bangle bracelets clacking like castanets, the seer switched off her radio and took a seat opposite her visitors. She turned piercing, black eyes on Emily. "So. Tell me your name and we will discuss your tongue."

"I told you: my native language is English." The Sobrani continued to stare at her. "And my name is Emily Prentiss."

"Ahhhh…" The fortuneteller nodded. "The two of you are not like your comrades. You are both so close to your spirit-pasts, your names have had little time to diverge. Little time for the distance humans crave from thinking themselves…animal."

Prentiss shook her head. "That makes no sense. What do you mean?"

"You two. Your names will be exactly what you are." The seer leaned back with a satisfied smile. " 'Emily' means eager. 'Prentiss' is a shortened trade name, and still retains the meaning…Apprentice. You are an eager apprentice. You dive into your work, your play, your life. You do not know boundaries or moderation. You are too new to humanity to live in a lesser fashion." Her eyes and voice softened. "You will enjoy your life despite its hardships."

"Okay." Emily nodded. "I can get behind that, I guess. But what's with all the talk about my native tongue? It's English. I learned others, but English is what my parents spoke and the first language I learned."

A long-suffering sigh preceded the Sobrani's answer. "Your words, like your name are from your father. But you draw your power from the line of women."

Prentiss drew in a sharp breath. The obsidian eyes before her were changing. The silvery tendrils she'd almost forgotten from last time danced across their darkness. The fortuneteller's voice became sonorous, melodic.

"Your mother's people…Slavic blood…names like 'Baladis'… 'Spalva'… 'Erglis'…the dove…the feather…the eagle…these live in your line…in your veins…these are the words of your true tongue…this is the language in which you dream…hawk-woman…your lineage is direct…your daughters will mourn their lost wings…just as you…still…do…"

Transfixed, Prentiss watched the shadow-play in the woman's misty eyes. When the old lids closed, she jolted from their spell. With feverish speed, she pulled out her phone…began typing the names the Sobrani had said, guessing at spellings as best she could.

She felt a frisson of irritation when Hotch's low, hoarse voice broke her concentration.

"Prentiss…"

The note of warning in his tone made her look over at him. The Unit Chief's eyes were steady, unblinking. It was a look she'd seen in the field. When no one knew what would happen. When unforeseen circumstances loomed. When all bets were off. Emily followed her leader's gaze.

Her breathing shallowed as adrenalin kicked in. Phone forgotten, her fingers spidered their way across the tabletop to take hold of Hotch's.

Madame Sobrani's face was expressionless.

Eyes of solid, molten silver stared out at them.


	12. Fate

Rossi hadn't done the restaurant's lavish dessert cart justice.

He'd finished dinner with the rest of the team, making appropriate remarks and jibes. He'd been surprised and touched by Garcia's cookbook gift, praising it just enough to make her preen at her ability to bring moments of brightness into her co-workers' lives. But all along Dave's mind had been on Hotch and Prentiss. As he picked at a slice of tiramisu, his imagination brewed and stewed, and he was hard-pressed to come up with a viable scenario that would account for the two agents going to ground in Aaron's hotel room.

Hotch was usually the one who pushed for interludes where the team could bond. It was unlike him to pass up an opportunity to do just that. _Something's weird_ , Rossi thought as he paid the bill.

Outside, as the group converged on the waiting SUV, Reid gave his colleagues a shy glance. "Anyone wanna check out a little magic club that's not too far away? It's supposed to be pretty good."

"Ooooh! Magic!" Garcia's eyes lit up at the prospect. Out of all of them, she was the one who shared most in the more fanciful aspects of their resident genius's far-flung interests.

Morgan shrugged. "Sure, Pretty Boy." He'd been tagging along with Penelope all day. Watching her wide-eyed acceptance of doves and flowers and rabbits popping out of hats would be entertaining. It was unusual to have this much leisure time. Derek would take advantage of it to enjoy his Baby Girl's company.

"Great! Rossi? J.J.?" Reid rarely had companions when he ventured out. His essentially lonely soul craved them. The more the merrier.

"Give me just a minute to see if I can…you, know…fog…" The liaison had her phone out. She'd been checking their flight status at regular intervals. She stepped off to the side, catching Rossi's eye and raising her brows. A gentle signal requesting a private word.

"Rossi? Wanna come?" Reid tilted his head to one side, looking like an inquisitive puppy hoping for a treat.

"Oh…uh…no, sorry, kid. I'm ready to turn in…call it a day. But you children have fun." The senior agent was already moving toward J.J. As he reached her side, his brows rose in imitation of hers. "What's up?"

"Do you need help with whatever's going on with Hotch and Emily?" The liaison's soft voice and warm eyes made Rossi grin. Little Ms. Jareau might not be an official profiler, but she had all the talents and instincts required to be one…leavened with healthy doses of discretion and diplomacy.

"What makes you think anything's going on?" It was said in a kindly tone, bringing out J.J.'s own beatific smile…and her ability to bring an aura of calm wherever it was needed most.

"You've been doing a really good job of hiding that they're on your mind, Rossi. But they are. So, if there's anything I can do…" She left the offer open-ended, letting the older agent know he wasn't alone if something troublesome was hovering.

"Thanks, kiddo. I don't know that anything's really wrong. In fact, I don't know _anything_." He sighed, giving her a half-hearted shrug. "Maybe it's nothing, but…"

"…but it's Hotch. And he hides when he's hurt," J.J. interjected, a tinge of sadness darkening her smile. "And if he needs you, he won't ask. He'll just hope you find him."

"Yeah."

J.J. turned toward where Reid, Morgan and Garcia were loitering around the SUV. "Guys, I'm gonna head back to the hotel, too. But have fun! And, Spence…behave. Don't show them up when you see how a trick works."

"Y-e-a-h…okay…" The young genius looked a little crestfallen. Growing up, he'd enjoyed being the _enfant terrible_ of Las Vegas, sneaking into shows and dumbfounding professional magicians by figuring out their most elaborate illusions. It was a hard habit to break.

"Okay, it's settled then." J.J. said as she and Dave moved toward the street. "Rossi and I'll grab a cab, and you guys go enjoy Seattle nightlife. And I'll keep tabs on the weather situation."

No one heard Morgan mutter under his breath. " _And_ the Hotch and Prentiss situation…" The liaison wasn't the only one who'd noticed Rossi's concern.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

Hotch couldn't look away.

He wanted to. With all his heart he wanted to bolt for the door and the relative sanity of the street beyond. Because what sat before him wasn't possible. And seeing the _im_ possible was a sign of _in_ sanity. But he couldn't move.

Partly because he needed answers; needed to talk to someone who wouldn't look at him askance for asking the questions that plagued him.

And partly because Prentiss was holding his hand. And he didn't want her to know how scared he was.

And partly because the eyes that flashed at him from across the table held him just as tightly as the chain around his neck that haunted his dreams. All he could do was wait, and try not to let them see him cower.

He felt an inhuman whine beginning deep in his throat. He struggled against it. It was on the point of bursting forth when at last, at blessedly last, the thing sitting across from him spoke.

It wasn't a voice he recognized. It issued from the Sobrani's slack mouth, but it wasn't hers…or even female. It belonged to whatever was responsible for silvering the seer's eyes. Resonant and oddly blurry, as though manipulating lips wasn't something it was used to doing, the words that issued were clearly for the Unit Chief.

"Sad, little wolf-child…has courage…has heart…has everything…but vision…but hope…"

Hotch felt Prentiss's fingers tighten around his. Grateful for her presence, he returned the pressure.

A rolling, booming chuckle filled the room. "Little wolf, I know your name…mountain of strength…fairest of judges…"

The Unit Chief gasped, his lungs refusing to fill. When he and Haley had been searching for a name for their soon-to-be son, Haley had gone what he'd jokingly called name-mad. She'd looked up everyone she'd known from childhood on. She'd laughed and laughed at how inappropriate some were: 'Grace' for the clumsiest girl in her fifth grade ballet class; 'Paul' which meant 'small' for the boy who'd towered over everyone. Now her voice echoed at him out of the past. _"Honey! 'Aaron' means you're a 'mountain of strength!' And you're gonna_ _ **love**_ _this… 'Hotchner' means 'an objective, fair judge.' That is so cool! You're strong and fair."_ She'd leaned in and kissed him, nipping at his bottom lip, a move that never failed to make him quiver. _"Well, no wonder they put you in charge of the BAU…my big, strong, honest Daddy-to-be…"_

At last Hotch sucked in a huge breath, making Prentiss turn a worried glance on him before she returned her focus to the fortuneteller's slow speech.

"Little…wolf…the cage…will open…the cycle…break…if fate that stalks…pups and mate…fails…to turn your heart…to hate…"

Silence fell, broken only by the Sobrani's harsh, open-mouthed breaths. Minutes passed.

"Hotch…" Prentiss whispered, eyes fixed on the seer. "Hotch, does that mean…"

A savage sound came from the old woman. Her head fell forward as she caved in on herself, burying her face in her hands. The agents remained seated, watching…unsure if this was a preamble to another strange soliloquy.

But the voice that scratched its way out from between fingers covered in rings was different. Weak…weary…quaking…

"Leave. Leave now. Go."

"But…" Emily still had questions concerning her own reading, and she was sure Hotch had even more than when they'd stepped across the threshold.

"I said _go_!" The Sobrani reared back, fixing her visitors with eyes that had reverted to their natural color. Seeing honest bewilderment, her demeanor softened. "Two like you…here together…is too much." Her voice was losing what strength it had. "If you come again…come alone…But…"

She bowed her head, resting the heels of her hands against her brow. "…but I would prefer you never come again…"


	13. Strategies

" _Go_!"

The Sobrani spat the word with force despite her apparent weariness.

Slow and reluctant, Hotch and Prentiss stood, scraping their chairs backwards. The agents exchanged glances, but neither had previous experience nor adequate background in occultism to offer any valuable perspective on the situation.

Hotch was trembling, but doing a creditable job of concealing it. Even though he wanted to escape badly, his breeding wouldn't allow him to flee without asking what was expected in the way of payment. He cleared his throat, hoping his voice would emerge sounding steady and strong. His lips parted and…

"Nothing…You owe me nothing." The seer's whispered answer to an unasked question sent another jolt of alarm through her visitors, making hairs stand on end and breath quicken.

Moving with the wariness of explorers in a minefield, Hotch and Prentiss made their way toward the exit. Aaron ushered Emily before him, instinctively putting himself between her and the unsettling forces behind them. Her hand was reaching out to sweep the beaded curtain aside when Madame Sobrani's voice froze them in their tracks.

"Wait."

Both agents cast cautious looks over their shoulders, but remained where they were, hovering at the edge of the shadowed room, on the verge of escape.

"Wait…you…" The fortuneteller jerked her chin toward Hotch. "You _can_ pay me."

Aaron began to reach for his wallet, but arrested the movement. He remembered the last fee this woman had extracted; for the team to remain in each other's company until dawn. So far, in his team's limited exposure to her, the woman didn't seem interested in common legal tender. Hotch swallowed in a throat gone dry, and waited.

A tired smile stretched the Sobrani's lips. "Smart boy. You learn _some_ things quickly." The grin vanished, her features hardening; one would have thought an expression as gentle as a smile could never have graced such a face. "You will pay me by learning not to fight."

Prentiss stole a glance at her boss. He was as still as marble, breaths so shallow his chest barely moved. Standing slightly behind him, her fingers crept forward, wrapping around his arm; silent reassurance that she literally had his back.

Hotch cleared his throat again. "I don't understa…"

"You would do well not to lunge against the restraints that bind you, young wolf."

During the pause that followed, Emily saw her boss's manful effort to appear unaffected; shoulders straightening, chin lifting. It was an attempt at defiance, but Prentiss could see past it. _He's so lost right now, he doesn't know how to react._

"I'm not a wolf. I'm a man."

The Sobrani waved an impatient hand, rings flashing, bracelets clashing. "Yes, yes, yes…and if you hope to remain one, you will listen." She leaned back in her chair, sighing deeply. "When you feel the chains tugging at you, do not always fight. Sometimes chains can pull us to safety." She leveled a narrow, black gaze at her two guests. "There is still hope for you, young wolf. Learn from your friend…" She nodded at Prentiss. "…she knows how to abandon losses. You carry them with you. You create your chains by clinging to them. Now…go."

This time the agents didn't waste any time. They were through the curtain, across the front of the parlor, and out the door within seconds.

XXXXXXXXXXX

Out on the street, Hotch and Prentiss distanced themselves half a block before stopping and turning to look back in the direction of the acid green, Egyptian eye barely visible through the nighttime fog.

Emily spared a glance for the Parlor of Past Possibilities, but her main focus was on her leader. "Hotch, what she said about not letting your mate and child be…be…"

"I don't want to talk about it, Prentiss." Realizing how curt he must sound, the Unit Chief bowed his head, voice softening. "I'm sorry. I'm just not sure about things right now. I need some time to think." He looked up, meeting his teammate's concerned eyes, trying to give her a reassuring half-smile and failing miserably…accomplishing more of a grimace instead. "Thanks for coming with me, Emily. And for letting me tag along on your hike. Thanks."

It was clearly a door closing on whatever tumultuous emotions were roiling inside of him. He was blocking her out. _Just when he should probably do the opposite._ _But, as Reid would quote from whatever sci-fi franchise it came from… 'Resistance is futile…'_ Blissfully ignorant of all things 'Star Trek,' Prentiss could nonetheless appreciate the sentiment. She wouldn't get anywhere by trying to pry Hotch's feeling out of him. She chose a subtler strategy.

"Sure…sure. It was nice having you along. You wanna go somewhere and get something to eat? We never did order room service. You gotta be hungry…?" Emily was aware her tone was a little too solicitous, a little too cajoling…as though she were handling an injured victim. _Or gentling a wild animal…_

Hotch took a deep breath, and hated that it sounded shuddery. "Uh, no. Thanks. I don't think I can eat right now." His unintentionally sad eyes signaled a plea for her understanding. "I think I just want to go back to the hotel."

"Okay…okay, sure…"

They fell in side by side, Prentiss relying on Hotch, the former Seattleite, to find their way through the maze of foggy intersections. They walked in silence, both lost in thought.

Emily breathed a sigh of relief when their hotel loomed up out of the mist. Her sense of direction was useless when it was dark, the weather was inclement, and her mind was preoccupied with the welfare of her Unit Chief.

Hotch held the door open, letting Prentiss precede him out of the fog and into the brightly lit reception area that made things like past lives and seers seem like negligible amusements. Through the lobby and into the elevator, the two agents kept pace. It wasn't until the doors whooshed open on Emily's floor that Hotch seemed to snap out of his broody reverie.

"Thanks again, Prentiss. Good night."

Emily stepped out, giving her leader a last, thoughtful look. "You're welcome. Get some rest."

The doors closed as Aaron nodded distracted consent. As soon as she was sure she couldn't be overheard, Prentiss pulled out her phone, punching in the second number on her speed dial.

"Rossi? Where are you?..."

XXXXXXXXXXX

In the cab coming back from the restaurant, Rossi closed his phone and slipped it back into his pocket, giving J.J. a significant glance as he did so.

The liaison's brows rose. "What?"

"When we get back to the hotel, how 'bout you take Prentiss and I'll take Hotch?"

"Deal."


	14. Surreality

J.J.'s light tapping at Prentiss's door went unanswered.

"Hey, Em! It's me. Open up." The liaison kept her voice low in deference to the increasingly late hour and the silence in the hotel corridor.

Rossi had filled her in on the gist of Emily's call in the cab. Even if it sounded as though Hotch had been her main concern, J.J. thought it likely Prentiss could use a friendly ear, too. She was still having a hard time believing they'd gone back for a second go-round with that fortuneteller. She had a niggling suspicion that the old woman's words had gone deeper and hurt more than any of them had suspected.

 _But…Hotch?_ J.J. shook her head. _He's the most level-headed, un-superstitious person I know. At least, that's how he presents himself._ She sighed. Maybe Prentiss could shed some light on things.

"Emily! C'mon…open up!" She tapped a little harder.

A few seconds later the door opened, revealing a robed, disgruntled Prentiss, her hair dripping as she tried to wrap it in a towel. "J.J.!? Did something happen? What's wrong?"

"That's what I wanna know. Can I come in?"

By way of answer, Emily stepped back, fashioning a turban out of the towel to contain her freshly-shampooed hair as she allowed her teammate to enter. J.J. took note of the fact that Prentiss didn't seem too overwrought. But then, Emily had proven herself a master of her own reactions several times over. _The woman never blinks, no matter what atrocities accost her in the field._

Answers were needed.

"So you went back to that soothsayer woman? Is that right?" J.J. shrugged when her teammate shot her a dark look. "Rossi told me. I was there when you called him." _So there's no use denying it, Emily._

Prentiss gave a gusty sigh, rubbing at her hair as she considered how to explain the entire weird sequence of events that had made dropping in on Madame Sobrani seem so necessary. At last, she gave J.J. a rueful smile. "I had to wash my hair twice to get the incense smell out of it. That old lady's lungs must be coated with sandalwood and pine residue from breathing that stuff."

"Mmmmm…I thought it was more like wildflowers. Strange."

Prentiss's posture slumped as she came to a decision and sat on the foot of the bed, motioning her co-worker to take a seat, too. "Strange doesn't even begin to describe it, Jayge, but after what happened when we were hiking...Hotch kind of needed to see her again." She hung her head, voice taking on an edge of regret. "For all the good it did."

Always sensitive to diplomacy and protocol, J.J. spoke in an undemanding tone. "If you wanna talk, I'm here. And if you can't tell me everything, if some things are confidential…I'll understand."

Prentiss turned melancholy regard on her friend. "Maybe I'll just tell you _my_ part. And all I'll say about Hotch is…" She paused, chewing her lip as she considered words that would convey enough, yet not intrude on the Unit Chief's privacy. "Did Rossi go to see him? Do you know?"

J.J. nodded. "He did. They're probably talking right now."

"Good." Emily took a deep breath. "Then that's all I'm gonna say about Hotch…that he needs his best bud after a day like today." Her expression brightened. "I haven't eaten yet. Wanna do room service?"

"I'm not hungry. Rossi treated us…you know?" It went without saying that the senior agent, who also commanded a fine palate and an active interest in cuisine, would have made sure all his guests ate their fill. "But…" J.J. opened a desk drawer and pulled out the hotel menu. "…I'll have some tea and keep you company…" She raised her brows significantly. "…while we talk." _No chance of using food as an evasive tactic, my friend._

Prentiss nodded. "While we talk."

But a portion of her mind was still on Hotch, wondering how he'd be able to express the strangeness of the day to someone who couldn't possibly know what it had felt like to call up the cell-deep memory of wings or fur…or to hear your soul was on an eternal loop, replaying tragedy over and over and over again.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

Rossi pulled out his phone as the elevator doors opened onto Hotch's floor, pressing the button that was first on every member of the BAU team's speed dial list.

"Hey. It's me." A few beats of silence told Dave what he already knew…that Aaron wasn't in a very social frame of mind. "Alright if I stop by for a few?"

"Few drinks? I think I've already exceeded my quota, Dave. Few minutes? I'd rather be alone right now."

"Well, you're not alone. I'm in the hall outside your door. Let me in, Aaron." Unlike J.J., Rossi had no hesitation about knocking long and loud. It was a tactic that garnered instant results. The door opened on the first resounding application of knuckles to wood. Dave frowned, subjecting his leader and best friend to a thorough perusal before voicing his opinion. "You look like hell."

"Thanks."

Rossi gave the younger man a gentle nudge, pushing him back just enough to allow himself access to the room's interior. The first thing he noticed after Hotch's haggard appearance was the disarray surrounding the mini-bar. He advanced to within a few inches of the Unit Chief and sniffed. "Are you drunk, Aaron?"

Hotch shook his head, looking more troubled than inebriated.

"Good. Then you'll make sense when I ask what's been going on with you."

Aaron fidgeted, eyes averted. "What makes you think anything's going on?"

"For starters, you demolished the mini-bar. And you don't seem drunk, so I'm guessing something shocked you sober. You've been a little off since last night when we let Garcia talk us into patronizing that seer or whatever she called herself…" Rossi watched Hotch's 'tell' assert itself. Crossing his arms was the man's way of hiding and simultaneously comforting himself.

"That does it." Dave guided his friend to the bed, pushed him down to a sitting position and then pulled the chair from the desk close, unknowingly imitating the knee-to-knee position Prentiss had taken earlier. "Talk to me Aaron."

The long pause made Rossi think he'd have to put more effort into convincing the Unit Chief to open up. But a closer look at the signs of distress…increased respiration, a lightly perspiring upper lip, and those crossed arms that cinched in even tighter, as though the man needed a hug and had only himself to turn to for it…told him Hotch might not be averse to a discussion.

He just didn't know where to begin or how to put whatever troubled him into words.

Dave was glad Prentiss had clued him in. Without betraying her having done so, he leaned forward, elbows braced on knees, hands clasped between them, and used his softest, most comforting tones usually reserved for the delicate process of interviewing victims. "Is this about that fortuneteller filling your ears with nonsense last night? I thought we all decided at the tavern afterwards that it was an entertaining, little interlude. Nothing more. And you yourself said part of the attraction was the underlying note of hope that things can always be improved upon. Is that it? Did hearing all that right before falling asleep let it slip deeper into your mind than it deserved? Huh?" Rossi jogged the younger man's knee, a gentle encouragement.

Hotch's breath caught as though he'd been about to speak and thought better of it at the last moment. Dave waited. As long as wheels were turning in Aaron's brain, he'd give him time to formulate a response. His voice, when it emerged, sounded tortured.

"I don't believe in that stuff, Dave! You know I don't. But it's eating at me…"

"She's a mentalist, Aaron. She threw out a concept that would chill any man's soul: losing your family…your wife and children. She had no way of knowing she'd hit a nerve. It was a cruel sport on her part, but she was just playing you. She was playing us _all_."

"No…no…" Hotch closed his eyes, calling up the feelings again. "There's more to it than that. I can't explain, but…no…"

Rossi sat a little straighter. Narrowing his eyes, he studied the distraught, young man before him. It reminded him of another time…someone else and another deep-seated emotional wound. "Aaron, do you remember when Reid was trying to recall his childhood? That whole mess with his father and that child molester who'd killed a kid Reid knew?"

Hotch gave a cautious nod. "Yeeeeahh…"

"I went with him to someone who could sort of hypnotize him." Rossi saw the dread creeping into his friend's eyes and hurried forward before objections could be made. "It helped Reid sort through some things; make sense out of a bunch of jumbled memories and impressions…"

"Dave…"

"All I'm saying is when the past came back to haunt Reid, he sought _professional_ help, not some charlatan with, for all we know, hallucinogenic incense permeating her workspace. Just think about it, okay? Maybe talk to Reid when you get a chance?"

Hotch pressed his lips together, considering. It wasn't as though he were being pushed into anything. And maybe if he said he'd touch bases with their young doctor about _his_ experience, it would satisfy Dave and that'd be an end to the matter.

"Okay. I'll think about it."

But something deep and primal and savagely scared spun in Hotch's stomach. This wasn't repressed memory. He was sure of it.

This was real; a reality that wasn't supposed to be accessible.

And yet, it was unfurling before him like a twisted path through a fairytale forest where those who entered, never emerged.


	15. Soup and Sympathy

Hotch's gaze was distant. He chewed the inside of his bottom lip; keenly aware that Rossi was studying him, watching his every move.

 _Profiling me…_

For his part, Dave was calculating how far he could push the younger man when he was clearly dealing with raw wounds.

 _And they might never go away. But, God in Heaven, I wish they'd at least scab over. Right now he looks like his heart's been broken. And he's blaming himself for being miserable. That's one hell of a vicious circle._

Sighing, Rossi pressed the heels of his hands against his tired eyes. "Aaron, I didn't know you were still hurting so much. It's been a few years since you lost Haley. That's what this is really about, right?"

The mention of his deceased, ex-wife's name jolted Hotch back from whatever dark thoughts had been holding him captive. He blinked. "No…no, it's…Well, maybe partly, but…" The Unit Chief's posture caved in a very defeated way. "…I dunno…I just…I don't…"

Shaking his head, Rossi rolled his eyes; a reflection of his realization that his teammate wasn't dealing with a full deck at the moment. "Okay. That's enough." He stood, looking down on Hotch from an authoritative height. "You need to pull yourself together. Go get ready for bed. Go." The baffled look Aaron turned on him only served to reaffirm Dave's assessment. "Go _now_!"

As Hotch rose and made his slow way toward the bathroom, giving Rossi a perplexed glance over one shoulder as he went, Dave began muttering to himself. "Hasn't slept. Took all his nourishment in liquid form by the looks of it. Wallowing in his own low opinion of himself…" He lifted the receiver of the room's phone, continuing to grumble as he dialed the front desk. "Hi. Yeah. This is Aaron Hotchner in room…uh…on the seventh floor. Can you send up a grilled cheese sandwich and some tomato soup? Fifteen minutes? Great. Thanks."

Rossi hung up and began to tidy the empty mini-bar bottles away. They were strewn across the carpet and bedspread like an army of tiny, glittering reminders that pain was alive and active deep inside Aaron Hotchner.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

J.J.'s eyes grew wide.

Twin pools of wonder, they stared over the rim of her teacup at her colleague who was in the process of demolishing a large, turkey sandwich as though the tale she was telling were no more than an ordinary day's jaunt through Seattle's rural surroundings.

"Emily, that's…that's…" The liaison shook her head in slow, repetitive arcs of denial. "…Incredible!...Unbelievable!...Not that I don't believe you," she hastened to add.

"I know, right?!" Prentiss spoke around a mouthful of roast turkey, managing to enunciate nonetheless. "And that's just what _I_ felt, or saw, or hallucinated. I think it was a lot stronger for Hotch, but that's _his_ story, so…"

"I know, I know." J.J. was dismissive of the finer points of confidentiality now that she'd heard a story of wings and feathers and a memory of flight so strong it made Emily's shoulders itch and pull. The only detail her friend had offered concerning their boss was that when she'd reached for him, she'd felt a heavy, fur coat. And not just fur, but the movement of the skin and muscle beneath it. Not like a garment…like a living pelt.

That, plus the fortuneteller's words, gave J.J. enough to put the pieces together for herself. And it was so stunning coming from level, realistic, logical Agent Prentiss, that the liaison didn't need to know more about Hotch's experience. Although she was sure one of them would pry it out of the close-mouthed Unit Chief eventually.

If Rossi wasn't succeeding even as she and Emily spoke, then all it would take was some very persistent, very gentle pushing. Hotch responded to whispers rather than shouts. Go lightly with him and something inside him would respond, as though it had been waiting all its life for someone to be tender with it.

She shook off thoughts of Hotch. Emily's tale was riveting enough at the moment. "And the names that Madame Sobrani gave you? Have you had time to look them up or anything?"

"Nuh-uh." Prentiss took a moment to polish off her very late dinner before continuing. "They're not a language I speak, but my mother's people were East European, Slavic, some kind of mix from that region, so I'm betting I'll find a reference there."

"Why don't you just ask your Mom?"

Emily grimaced. "Mom's not the most forthcoming about her roots. I don't know why, but I learned early on that the only response I'd get if I asked was that we're American and that's all that matters now."

An avid light entered J.J.'s still-wide eyes. "That sounds like a mystery. Like she's keeping something under wraps. Call her, Em! Call her!"

"Yeah, right. It's…what?...3 a.m. on the East Coast?" She grimaced. "That'd go over _real_ big. 'Mom, wake up! Let's talk about stuff you never wanted me to know!' Yeah… _REAL_ big…"

"Well, at least do an internet search. We can get Garcia to look into it. But your Mom would still be best."

With slow, deliberate movements, Prentiss cleared away the detritus of her meal, stacking dishes on the service trolley room service had provided. "Jayge…I love you…but in case you didn't notice, my mother's not the type who bakes cookies and is happy to hear from her screw-up daughter."

"You're not a screw-up!"

"I am in _her_ eyes." She shrugged. "It's okay. I'm used to it. But before I bring any of my actual ancestors into it, I'm gonna check out as much as I can on my own. _And_ …" She jumped in before the liaison could say what Prentiss knew was on her lips. "… _And!_ …no mention of this yet to Garcia or anyone except Rossi, 'cause I already told him weird stuff is going on."

J.J. gave her friend a resigned, but obedient nod. "And Hotch, if he asks for help."

Emily gave a derisive snort. "Our fearless leader asking for help of a personal nature? That'll be the day!"

J.J. didn't argue. She had her own thoughts on the subject, and the ways she knew would let them slip beneath their boss's armor.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

Hotch emerged from the bathroom in boxers and t-shirt, expecting to find himself alone.

Instead, he saw a room service cart pulled up to the side of the bed, laden with chafing dishes.

"Dave? What did you do?"

"Wha'does it _look_ like?" Rossi lifted his nose toward the ceiling with an injured air. "Man's so messed up he can't recognize kindness when it's staring him in the face."

"No, I mean…you didn't have to…" Hotch adopted his own expression of stoic fortitude. "I appreciate it, but I can take care of myself. You should go get some rest."

"Like I could knowing you're curled up in a corner…whimpering…starving…scared…whimpering some more…"

The Unit Chief's lips pressed into a firm line. "I'm fine. Thanks for checking on me, but…"

"Shut _up_." Rossi infused his words with a seldom-used tone of absolute command. It was how he'd made young recruits obey before they knew what they were doing. It was how he'd made a wet-behind-the-ears, eager-beaver, young agent named Aaron toe the line years ago. "Shut up and get in bed. I'm gonna stay and make sure you eat. All I ask is you don't make me force you. Now c'mon…" He pulled back the bedding.

Hotch looked at the tableau with grave consideration. "You're a bully. You know that, right?"

"So are you. But I'm older so I'm a more effective one."

As Aaron approached the bed, Rossi uncovered the steaming dishes.

Hotch blinked. Creamy tomato soup. Melted, toasty cheese sandwich. _Comfort food. He ordered me comfort food._

It was something that had rarely been done for Aaron even when he was a child. He stared down at the soup and sandwich, eyes filling no matter how hard he tried to stop them from doing so.

The younger man's reaction wasn't lost on Rossi. His voice was as gentle as it had previously been commanding. "Feel like talking now?"

Hotch nodded, even though he couldn't speak. Evidence of being cared for sometimes rendered him speechless.


	16. Step by Step

J.J.'s yawn was infectious. Prentiss couldn't help responding with a jaw-cracking version of her own.

"I guess it's time to call it a night."

The liaison nodded in agreement. "Yeah, well…at least we can sleep in tomorrow. Doesn't look as though the fog's gonna lift for another day or two."

"It's nice to have a little break, but I kind of wish we could get out of here before something else weird happens…you know?"

J.J.'s grin was mischievous. "Penelope would say the fog is keeping us here for a reason; just so weird things that need to happen, _can_ happen…WooooOOOooo…" She breathed out her best imitation of a ghostly presence.

"Alright, Spook-Girl. I'll see you tomorrow." Now that she'd eaten and unburdened her experiences of the day to her friend, Prentiss was feeling a pleasant weariness. She wouldn't admit it even to J.J., but she wanted to see if she could recapture the dream of the previous night. The sensation of having wings was a powerful lure, and she yearned to answer its call.

J.J. allowed herself to be ushered out. Just before Prentiss closed the door behind her, the liaison flashed a warm smile. "Sweet dreams, Em. See you at breakfast."

"Same to you. Night."

Alone at last, Prentiss raked her fingers through her damp hair, slipped between the crisp, hotel sheets, turned off the light…

…and hoped for flight.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

A couple of floors higher, Hotch was subdued in the face of Rossi's kindness and consideration.

Without further prompting, he got into bed.

The older man repositioned his chair so he could face Aaron from the other side of the room service cart. He was close enough to observe minutia, but not close enough to intrude on personal space and make the object of his scrutiny feel crowded. The Unit Chief would have been mortified to know how many of his teammates knew the 'tame with a whisper, not a shout' strategy when it came to handling their leader.

Rossi was a master at it.

Hotch ate his soup and sandwich dutifully, if not enthusiastically. His mind was on the 'talk' he knew his colleague was expecting afterward. To Dave's credit, he confined the mealtime conversation to inconsequential matters like the foggy weather and how dinner with the others at the crab house had gone. Both men knew it was in deference to Hotch's appetite, which reacted negatively to an alarming array of stresses. One of the foremost being if he felt his closely-guarded, inner landscape was in danger of being breached.

But at last Hotch gave a deep sigh and pushed his empty plate away. "Dave?" Rossi hadn't taken his eyes from his friend during the meal. Now, he raised his brows in response, inviting whatever the other man had to say. "Thanks, Dave. Just…thanks."

There was a tiny catch in Aaron's voice. Rossi gave him a crooked grin, eyes crinkling with affection. "Feel a little better now? More centered? Not flying off into some seer's offbeat suggestions?"

"Yeah. About that…" Hotch hung his head, still at a loss as to how to describe the gut-churning terror the woman had invoked. As for recounting the incident while hiking, or the childhood dream surfacing and eliciting as vivid an emotional reaction as when he was twelve…well, there was no way to tell anyone such things and come out on the other side of it looking sane.

Rossi ran a hand over his beard, gears turning as he witnessed Aaron's struggle. He still didn't want to tip the man off that Prentiss had had no trouble giving a concise, graphic, disturbing recitation of her day in Hotch's company. But there was someone else who could be used as a segue into the weirdness without compromising anyone's trust.

"So…at dinner Reid said that he was picking up some strange vibes from you and Emily when he drove you guys back here." Aaron's head snapped up, eyes locking with Dave's. _Score! Maybe that'll get the ball rolling._ "That kid doesn't miss much. Why don't we start there? Or maybe…" Rossi's eyes narrowed, his professional skills coming into play. "…or maybe we should start a little earlier? What made you want to go with Prentiss in the first place?" The shadows in Hotch's eyes were a clue he was on the right track. "Yeah…let's start there."

The Unit Chief took a moment to sort out what felt like chaos inside his mind. It was hard to focus through the emotional turmoil, but he knew what Dave was doing; trying to lead him so he could concentrate on one step at a time, eventually revealing a well-formed path. It was how they dealt with confused, overwrought subjects in the field. Hotch tried not to think of himself as that kind of victim. He bent his will to following the procedure and letting his best friend help him communicate.

The kindness of tomato soup and grilled cheese were worth at _least_ that much effort.

"Okay. I wanted to go with Prentiss because I needed fresh air…the woods. The woods would make me feel better."

"So you weren't feeling well?"

"No, not exactly. I…I didn't sleep much, but I wasn't sick or anything like that."

 _Aha!_ "Your sleep was disturbed. Why?"

Hotch's throat moved in an audible swallow. "I had a bad dream."

"Tell me, Aaron." The calm sympathy in Rossi's tone told Hotch that it was okay to go a little deeper.

"I don't remember the details. All I know is I woke up raging; so angry I wanted to put my fist through a wall…" His voice softened, shame entering in. "And I know I've had it before. A lot. Growing up…you know?" Hotch's dark eyes fixed on the older man's, begging for understanding that would spare him having to talk about his childhood.

Dave nodded. "Recurring dreams are relatively common. Why did this one send you to the woods?"

Aaron's words were soft as a prayer. "Because that's where I belong. Every time I wake up from it, I'm filled with hate and rage and I need to be somewhere where I can breathe…somewhere away from...from Man…"

Rossi blinked. _He didn't say 'away from people.' He said 'away from Man,' as though he's a different species._ Everything Prentiss had told him, everything he recalled the fortuneteller saying, began to knit itself together.

For the first time, a chill padded up Rossi's spine on a wild thing's paws.


	17. A Desperate Theory

Prentiss couldn't get to sleep.

The resurgence of her childhood dream opened the floodgates on a host of tiny memories and incidents that took on new significance from an enlightened, adult perspective. She lay on her side, staring into the dark and let the images cascade over her…

XXXXXXXXXXXX

"NO! Don't kill it! PLEASE don't!"

Bettina Greaves looked down at the imploring eyes of her student. Little Emily trembled on the brink of tears, her lower lip quivering with a grief the kindergarten teacher couldn't understand.

The woman's hesitation gave young Emily hope. She pressed her case. "PLEASE? Let me catch it. It doesn't have to die! Please?"

"It's a bee, Emily. Sammie Miller's allergic to them. I have to…" Bettina's apologetic shrug said it all. _Such a small life…an insect…it doesn't matter when balanced against risk to a person._

It was an attitude Emily couldn't…wouldn't…accept. "But it hasn't hurt anyone! It's not fair! Please let me catch it?" The child grew eloquent and inventive with desperation. "Sammie can go to the lunchroom. And close the door. And I'll catch it and take it outside."

Tears began to flow. Bettina could tell the other children would soon join in unless she ended this odd confrontation. "Alright. I'll keep everyone away for… for ten minutes. But no climbing on the desks or counters to get it. Understood?"

The Prentiss girl went from misery to sunshine in the beat of a butterfly's wing. The teacher herded her charges out in an orderly fashion. At the door of the classroom she turned, giving this inconvenient child a curious look. "Emily?"

"Yes, Mrs. Greaves?"

"Why is it so important to save the bee?"

Emily gave her one of those looks children reserve for adults who are beyond dense. "Because..." The little girl's face beamed. "…it can fly!"

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

Prentiss gazed into the dark and remembered…

She'd rescued the bee…and countless flies, moths, gnats, mayflies. For some reason she'd never questioned: anything that could fly, that had wings, was special.

And you couldn't kill special.

The memory didn't bring any answers, but it did add to the list of things she'd like to discuss with her mother, should the opportunity ever arise. Slipping closer to sleep while thinking of the older Prentiss brought more recollections…

XXXXXXXXXXX

"Emily! Get down from there this instant, young lady! I said _now_!"

Ambassador Elizabeth Prentiss found her daughter exasperating in a number of ways. The child was forever climbing and perching on the highest, most hazardous precipices of buildings, statues, trees. She only seemed content when she could gaze down on a vista below her. At first, Elizabeth had been terrified the girl would come to harm, plummeting to the ground. But as the incidents piled up, becoming behavioral patterns, and Emily refused to be earthbound, a different dread crept into the ambassador's thinking.

 _It's nonsense! All those old folktales and family legends; no more to do with present-day reality than superstitious cave paintings scrawled in some Baltic cavern. If the girl's picking up bad habits, it's because she's watching_ _ **you**_ _, Ms. Ambassador! So…so watch_ _ **yourself**_ _! And make sure_ _ **you**_ _don't inundate her with all that idiocy your great grandmother spewed into_ _ **your**_ _childhood._

Elizabeth was a firm believer in timing. She knew that the wrong words and actions could take root and, if not define a youngster's life, then at least have a deep, abiding influence on it.

 _You have to be careful what you pass on. You might not control things like height or eye color, but you can certainly exercise enough discipline to shield the girl from ancestral stupidity!_

Little Emily didn't know it…would _never_ know it…but her mother loved her with the ferocity of an eagle. Her impulse was to destroy anyone who tried to harm her daughter; rend them into bloody shreds. When she came to the realization that she herself might be the agent of harm, Elizabeth railed against what she saw as a kind of genetic betrayal. It was too easy to relax, let affection loosen one's tongue and pass on the same stories of wings and flight and a people not quite human that had colored her own childhood. And set her apart. And made her feel like an eternal misfit who now devoted her life to smoothing the differences between peoples, because she'd suffered from being so different herself.

She wanted better for Emily.

So Ambassador Prentiss distanced herself. The chilly wall she erected between them would always make her daughter feel as though she didn't measure up to expectations. Emily would carry the effects of maternal aloofness with her for her entire life.

Her mother reasoned it was better for her to feel an orphan-like lack than to question the roots of her very humanity.

After all, it was just a ridiculous legend…

XXXXXXXXXXX

Prentiss stared into the dark and heard her mother's disapproval echo down the corridors of time.

She remembered being attracted to high places. She had been unable to resist views that commanded extensive landscapes. _Was that part of this…this_ _ **bird**_ _thing? Or am I just weird, and that's why Mom doesn't like me?_

Touching the lifelong wound of her mother's indifference served to close off other, less painful recollections. Emily squeezed out one, tired tear for her childhood and closed her eyes.

She was unaware that the need for solace and escape propelled her into the dream she'd hoped for.

While Hotch and Rossi talked into the wee hours of the morning, Prentiss soared among the stars on velvet-dark wings, lips touched by a blissful smile.

XXXXXXXXXX

Rossi did a good job of hiding his unease.

The details gleaned from disparate sources were coming together, forming a disturbing puzzle picture that was still missing a great many pieces. But the part that was becoming visible was the worst sort of mystery. _Paranormal! I_ _ **hate**_ _paranormal! It's for frauds and pranksters and cheats! It doesn't exist!_ He used tidying away the room service dishes as a cover, composing himself before conducting further investigation of Hotch's subconscious.

When the service trolley was put to rights and trundled out into the hall to await pickup, Rossi returned to his seat and the troubled eyes of his best friend.

The Unit Chief had tracked Dave's every move. He was searching for signs. Signs of disbelief. Of concern for one's sanity. Of shame. These were the reactions Hotch had to himself. He both dreaded and hoped to find them in the older man. It would mean that Dave felt the same way and then at least he'd have company in his self-denigration. But it would also mean that he was as damaged and wanting as he secretly suspected.

The contradictions were tearing him apart as Rossi played chambermaid. But Hotch hid that inner turmoil, too. Until the tidying was done and the two men were facing each other again. Then, his voice emerged low with a slight vibrato betraying his fear.

"Dave, am I crazy?"

Rossi stared, meeting the younger man's dark gaze head-on. The gravity of the question forced him to get over his own issues and plunge deeper into the maze of puzzle pieces. Aaron needed help. That was the most important thing.

"No. No, I don't think you're crazy." Dave rubbed his beard, mind racing. _Don't judge him. Help him. There's a reason…a solid, logical reason…why these coincidences are stacking up. Help him find it._ "I think you've sublimated some serious issues, Aaron. I don't think you knew you were shoving things…your emotions…aside so you could continue on as the perfect father and the perfect Unit Chief leading a perfect team, solving cases perfectly. I think you've sacrificed yourself for the good of everyone around you." He paused, taking a deep breath. "Then we hit a period of enforced idleness…" Rossi raised his hands, palms upward in an all-inclusive gesture. "…and without anything to divert your mind, all the undealt-with feelings are finally erupting like a volcano that can't take the internal pressure anymore. That's not crazy. It's human."

Dave sat back, waiting to see how his impromptu theory would be received.

Hotch's grave regard didn't waver. He continued to stare at his friend and teammate, the fine blades of his intellect slicing and dicing this explanation, dissecting it for value and truth. At last, Aaron's eyes narrowed, drawing a bead on Rossi.

"Then what about Prentiss? I think she feels some of the same things…you know: different in detail, but the same."

Dave bit his lip for a moment, then inspiration lit his expression with a flash of triumph. "She's been through trauma, too, Aaron. As you said… 'different in detail, but the same.' She was stabbed, given a fake funeral, separated from everyone and everything she knew. And now she's back, too. Just like you. She's being our perfect, traumatized, alpha female side by side with our perfect, traumatized Unit Chief."

Rossi had been leaning forward as he delivered this insight. Now he eased back, nodding to himself. "Maybe it's time both of you had a little professional help to sort things out." He folded his hands in his lap and waited for a response. _Hell, at least it's better than my saying 'You're both bat-crap crazy!'…_

Hotch's glare was at its most critical. Not in judgment against Rossi. Rather, he was analyzing both his and Prentiss's pasts, along with the odd occurrences of the last two days. _And let's not forget the respective links to our childhood dreams. That's strange in itself._ At last, Aaron sighed and shook his head.

"I dunno, Dave. I'd buy the whole theory, except for one thing."

Rossi raised his chin, curious. "What's that?"

"Prentiss loves it. It don't think that springs from trauma."

XXXXXXXXXXXX

Two floors down, Emily twisted in her sleep. She was changing direction. Everything was golden: the sea, the light that surrounded her, and an immense building, a gathering of towers her keen eyes could see on the fast-approaching, distant shore. Happiness bubbled deep inside her.

 _Temple. It's a temple. I'm almost home…_


	18. Different Shores

Rossi was grasping at straws, and he knew it.

"Aaron, you can't be sure Prentiss is enjoying all this strange stuff you've been going through. She might just be putting a good spin on it to make it easier for _you_."

Hotch reared back, eyes suspicious. "She wouldn't do that. She's honest about things."

"When it counts…yeah. But when it comes to protecting her teammates, she'll cross as many lines as she has to." Dave frowned. "You didn't know that?"

The Unit Chief considered for a moment. "I _do_ know that. Prentiss'll be the first to take it on the chin for the others and come up swinging. She's a tough fighter. But…" He faded to an uncertain ending.

A slow smile began to spread across Rossi's features. He'd been hoping for a way to divert Hotch; a tactic he thought necessary when it came to investigating the subconscious trigger that he believed the fortuneteller had unwittingly pulled. "'For the others?' You don't think she'd go the extra mile for the suit-and-tie that gives the orders? You think she only backs the lower echelons?"

Hotch inhaled, lips parted, but whatever words he'd been about to speak failed to make it out. He closed his mouth and retreated behind his mournful gaze.

Dave leaned back in his chair, a look of genuine wonder coming over him. "My God. You really don't know, do you? You really don't know how you stand with each and every one of your team."

Shaking his head in amazement, the older man crossed his arms and continued to study the shuttered face of his best friend. _And discussing the team is the surest way to slip through his defenses; make him drop phrases and reveal mannerisms that are more a clue to his inner workings than anything he'd consciously put on display._

"All right, Aaron. It mystifies me that a top-notch profiler like you has this congenital blind spot when it comes to assessing himself, or seeing that same assessment reflected in his colleague's eyes. But since you're unwilling to take those blinders off, let me help you out." Rossi had been rubbing his beard a lot during this discussion; one of his 'tells.' This time he scrubbed at it in a way that let Hotch know the older man was particularly exasperated with him. Aaron felt the need to defend himself.

"I know the team has my back, Dave. I trust them with my life."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah…" Rossi waved one hand in a dismissive gesture. "On the clock, doing their duty…that's not what we're talking about here. We're talking up-close-and-personal." He leaned in, bracing his elbows on his knees, a position that made it seem he was aiming each word at his target audience-of-one. "You can't tell me you don't know everyone on that team, including me, would go to the mat for you."

Hotch blinked. He'd heard Derek use those exact words when he'd learned that Strauss was questioning the Unit Chief's ability to lead in the wake of George Foyet's brutal attack. _C'mon, Hotch. I'll go to the mat for you. So will everyone else…You_ _ **know**_ _that…_

But Morgan hadn't known the elaborate subterfuge and maneuvering his leader had been engaged in.

Hotch had been fighting for his life and his family and their future. He'd used every sly trick at his command. He'd appeared to bow to authority in the interest of keeping the team together, but Hotch knew the main reason he'd stepped down with only a token fight was to lure Foyet into thinking his plan was working; that he was destroying the BAU Unit Chief mentally and emotionally. And what Aaron had never admitted to anyone was that most of what had seemed like aberrant behavior…walking solo into a hostage situation…seeming to obsess over Foyet…turning his back on a shootout, withdrawing and letting local law enforcement finish on their own…all were opportunities he'd taken advantage of in order to foster the appearance of his own devolution, courtesy of the Reaper.

Now, in retrospect, he believed he'd used his team for his own agenda; one that had nothing to do with the job, and everything to do with his own personal hell…his desire to obliterate George Foyet from the face of the earth. If he'd been able to discuss it with any of them, Hotch would have still found unconditional support throughout the ranks. But the chief lesson of his childhood had been how to remain a solitary symbol of pain and loneliness.

And little Aaron Hotchner had been a fast learner, internalizing abuse and the knowledge that no one could help to the point that even now, with his best friend telling him otherwise, it was easier to accept a strange, old woman's proclamation that abuse and loss had been, and would always be, his fate.

"Dave, I appreciate what you're trying to say, but…"

"But you're comfortable with your blinders on and that's where they'll stay, right?" Rossi saw stubborn resignation in the younger man's posture and expression. His voice softened. " _Do_ you know why I'm saying these things, Aaron?"

"Yes."

"Why? Tell me."

"Because you want to be sure I know the whole team has my back; that they're loyal to me 24/7, not just on the job."

"No. That's not it." At last, Hotch's stoic expression faltered. Rossi gave him a sad, lopsided smile. _He's tired and stressed and worried and completely out of his comfort zone. It's mean to take advantage of him when he's vulnerable, but I need a way in…_ "It's because I love you like you're mine."

Like an arrow, the words hit home. The Unit Chief's slightly defensive air wavered, and then, like a slow motion avalanche, slid away. His voice, when it came, was barely above a whisper.

"I guess I know that, Dave."

"Good." _Shocked you a little, did I? So while your defenses are down…_ "What's really bothering you, Aaron? I don't buy that you believe you're some kind of reincarnated dog or whatever. What's this really about?"

Hotch's head hung, eyes downcast. He picked at his cuticles for a moment, lips pressing into a thin line. "I got scared. That woman…she said…I mean…what if…"

Rossi's gaze never left his friend, voice still soft, coaxing. "Take it slow. Find what's wrong and give it a name…you can do it."

Hotch gave a single nod and took a deep breath. "The thing I'm most afraid of, Dave, is…is losing Jack." It was spoken in such a thin, thready voice, Rossi had to strain to hear. "Ever since Haley died…it's like I've been waiting for the other shoe to drop. And when that woman said I'd lose everything…every _one_ …" Hotch raised brimming eyes. "…it was like something…shifted. I can't explain it, but it feels like I've gone through this before, and…and I'm really scared. I…I could still lose him."

Rossi steepled his fingers beneath his chin, studying Hotch, feeling the truth of what the younger man was saying. _He really believes this…_ The pleading look in his eyes was begging for a way out. Dave could only think of one.

"Aaron, you know PTSD sometimes doesn't make itself known for years. You can be going along just fine and something will happen…a sound, a scent…something…and suddenly you take a nosedive and all the fear and grief and pain will hit like a ton of bricks. I think that's what's happening here. That fortuneteller pulled your trigger. And maybe you haven't moved on as well as you think you have. And maybe rather than deal with it head-on, your mind is manufacturing all these trappings to _help_ you deal with it."

Hotch nodded, but it wasn't a very convincing gesture. "Maybe. But…but the dream that I've had since childhood; that didn't have anything to do with…I mean, that's from before I ever even met Haley."

Rossi closed his eyes for a moment. _Oh, boy. This isn't going to get any easier, is it…?_ With slow, deliberate movements he abandoned his chair, taking a seat on the edge of the bed where one hand could massage a message of care and comfort into Hotch's shoulder. "Then maybe you have more than one trauma to deal with." Dave took a deep breath and said what he'd hoped he'd never have to.

"Aaron, I know the kind of home you grew up in. You don't get to walk away from something like that. I think your wires are getting crossed; the effects of multiple ordeals are surfacing. Maybe it's time to find a different way to manage _all_ the bad things that have happened to you."

Rossi could feel the muscles beneath his palm tremble and cringe. Hotch kept his formative years under lock and key.

And now they might as well be floodlit and on display.

XXXXXXXXXXX

Waves of elation coursed through Prentiss.

She was close enough to see details of the buildings on the shore as she approached. The towers were wreathed with balconies, their railings twined with dark vines that bore brilliant-hued blossoms. _Tropical! They look like…like bougainvillea, or…or maybe some kind of orchid?_ She breathed deep, savoring the salty ocean air and the faint perfume as yet barely discernible, carried on the breeze coming from the flower-laden temples.

 _Beautiful! So incredibly beautiful!_ Her muscles pumped harder, the dream of wings carrying her forward without hesitation.

Until she looked down and saw her shadow against the seawater below her. It was the first time in any of her flying dreams that she'd seen evidence of her appearance. Wings. Tremendously long. Feathered. Powerful. The sight made her stumble mid-air. The sensation of losing altitude was new, too. She regained her rhythm and height almost by instinct.

The shore… _Home!_...drew closer. More details emerged. Flitting between the towers in graceful, aerial display were winged creatures.

When she realized they weren't birds, Prentiss nearly fell out of the sky.


	19. Balancing on the Edge

With a start, Prentiss jolted awake, heart racing.

Disoriented, she flailed, flinging her arms wide; an instinctive gesture that would arrest her fall into the seawater…if she'd had wings…if she'd in fact been soaring over a sunlit ocean. Gasping, she moved her head in quick, bird-like jerks, taking note of the unfamiliar surroundings that reassured her she was in her hotel room. As her pulse quieted, shock and alarm turned to awe. Every detail, every sensory perception of her dream was vivid and accessible.

She leaned back against mounded pillows, a slow smile spreading across bemused features. _That was no ordinary dream. That was like the special ones…the ones that never fade._

She reviewed the experience in her mind once more, slowly, so she could savor it. She smelled the salted air and faint fragrance of flowers. She felt the setting sun's golden heat flowing across her back. Felt the powerful surge and freedom of flight. Saw the temples. Saw her shadow. Saw…

Her smile faded; expression slackening in recognition and shock.

The creatures populating the air among the towers. Winged, but not birds. Winged like _her_. Her brain stuttered with the import. _Winged like me!?_ _My…my people!?_

Prentiss swallowed, confusion and anxiety forming a lump in her throat. And longing. A cell-deep desire to be among _them_.

She glanced around the room again. Grey dawn was just beginning to leak past the edges of the curtained windows. She scrabbled among items littered across the nightstand, finding her phone. _Five a.m._ For a moment she stared into the dimly lit middle-distance, thinking. Then…

 _Sorry, Mom. I don't care how busy you are, or what time it is, or that you're probably on your way to your office…_

Prentiss found the least-used number on her speed dial and pressed it.

"Hello, Mom? It's me…I really need to talk to you…"

XXXXXXXXXXX

Rossi was dragging, but refused to leave Hotch's side without obtaining at least token evidence that he'd banished the supernatural underpinnings of the younger man's fears.

He grumbled, gave a rough sigh and rubbed gritty eyes. "Sorry to bring up old business you'd probably rather never talk about, Aaron, but keeping the stuff inside isn't doing you any good. Like they say…you can run, but you can't hide." Resting one proprietary hand on Hotch's shoulder, Dave waited for a response, a small butterfly composed of sympathetic angst cavorting in his stomach.

The Unit Chief's features weren't giving anything away. They'd gone blank. He'd made it through a few decades without anyone dragging his abusive childhood into the light. He wished it hadn't surfaced now. The quirky buttons installed during his upbringing were still there. Dusty, but functional. The rational adult would say his father was to blame, but Hotch would never escape the whispers that even now curled around him, suggesting guilt. _There_ _ **had**_ _to be a reason he beat you…You_ _ **must've**_ _done something to deserve it…Your fault…_ _ **Had**_ _to be…_

Running a close second was inexplicable shame. _Better hide what happens at home. Better protect your family's reputation. Don't tell…You want to be like the other kids who don't get hit…There must be something wrong with you…_

At Rossi's words Hotch, the rational, experienced FBI agent knowledgeable in the field of child abuse, collided with the emotions spawned during a youth of interminable torment. Behind his carefully composed façade, Aaron felt as though every one of his internal organs had been filled with ice. He'd never learned to deal with the conflicts of being an adult survivor of abuse. He bent in on himself, shoulders hunched, hands fisted against his forehead so he could hide behind them.

Dave's heart sank as he watched.

The Unit Chief's words were muffled. "What could you possibly know about me as a kid? You weren't there."

Rossi's eyes filled, but he kept his voice steady. "I didn't have to be there. You know that. I've known you for years. And way back when you were first adjudicated for the BAU, a panel went over you with a fine-tooth comb. You know the process. You employ it yourself with candidates for the team."

"Oh, God." Hotch cringed in on himself. It was a physical manifestation of pulling his shameful secrets closer and tighter. Even though he knew hiding now was futile, the old, familiar pain inside demanded it. "So all this time…for years…everyone's known…" He faded into a soft, private whimper.

"All this time…for years…everyone's been thanking their lucky stars you came along and were interested in donating your considerable talents to the FBI, Aaron. And all I know, and have _always_ known, is that you're tough and strong and honorable and trustworthy. We know the stuff about you that matters; the stuff that makes you a born leader."

Hotch drew his long legs up to his chest and hugged his knees, burying his face against them. In Rossi's eyes, the younger man had never looked more like a lost, hurt child.

"Awwww…Aaron…" Dave shifted position and wrapped his arms around the entire miserable bundle that was his dearest friend.

XXXXXXXXXX

"Emily? What's wrong?"

Ambassador Prentiss's voice sliced across the connection like a hacksaw. She always carried the dread in her back pocket that her daughter would come to harm in the line of duty. Why the girl couldn't have chosen something less perilous than being a field agent for the FBI was just another one of the exasperating things about her.

"Nothing's wrong. Jeez, Mom, I just wanted to talk." A few beats of silence fell. Prentiss could practically taste the unease between them. It made her sad, and a little angry, too. "Is that alright? If I want to talk to my mother?" She knew her critical tone would only make things more tense, but she couldn't help venting.

Emily hated how she usually morphed from the confident, capable professional she knew herself to be into a needy child who still…and likely always would…hunger for her mother's approval and permission to pursue the kind of communication other families took for granted.

A patient, long-suffering sigh from the other end of the line told Prentiss the older woman was delving into her own professional arsenal of diplomatic methods reserved for minor irritations like petulant children.

"Of course we can talk, dear. It's just I'm about to step out the door. Work…you know?"

Prentiss bit her lip. An acid burn began in her stomach. This was how it always was. For as long as she could recall, her mother had used her job to keep her at a distance. Hotch wasn't the only one with buttons installed. Emily could feel the urge to acquiesce, to acknowledge that her mother's time was at a premium. It was a valuable commodity that a mere relative, like a disappointing daughter, couldn't afford.

"Really, Emily, I have a meeting, and…"

But then the dreams that wouldn't fade, and the eerie words of the seer, and the tactile sensation of functional wings surged to the fore.

"Spalva!" Prentiss blurted one of the names she remembered from the session with the fortuneteller.

It worked like a magic charm, rendering the eloquent ambassador speechless. But not silent. Emily could hear shallow, sharp breathing. The kind that meant adrenalin was pumping. She waited.

"Where did you get that word?"

"What does it mean, Mom? Spalva. What does it mean to _us_?"

"It doesn't mean anything."

"Yes, it does! I can hear it in your voice! God, Mom! I'm a profiler. I read people for a living. And I'm good at it…" Prentiss took on an injured tone. "…even if you think it's a worthless job…I'm good at it. I know that word means something to you."

Elizabeth Prentiss was good at _her_ job, too. One of the prime components was that she be able to land on her feet and turn on a dime. It wasn't even a conscious decision; more like an instinctive defensive measure. "Emily, I don't think you're doing something worthless. And I know you're good. You'd be good at so many things. I worry about your safety, that's all." It was infused with uncommon warmth and affection. It was the kind of thing Prentiss had always craved to hear from her mother's lips.

It almost worked. Until…

"Now, dear, I really do have to get going. Give my regards to your boss, alright?…Goodb…"

Mention of Hotch broke the spell of motherly concern the ambassador had woven. Emily felt again the living pelt she'd grasped when reaching out for the Unit Chief; saw again the distress he tried to conceal. The answers she sought weren't just for her.

Rossi was right when he'd said Prentiss would cross any line, take any action she deemed necessary to protect her teammates.

"Spalva! _Spalva_!" Her voice descended to a gritty growl. "If you don't tell me, I'll go back to the woman who clued me in, Mom. And while we're at it…Baladis! Erglis! You want me to go on? You want me to…"

"Stop it, Emily!"

Prentiss fell silent, poised on a precipice that her mother would either pull her back from, or push her over. She was more than half expecting the latter.

"Alright…alright…"

The defeat in the ambassador's voice was something her daughter had never heard before. Still…Mom could be tricky. Her profession made her a sly conversationalist. Prentiss waited. _Pull me back, or push me over, Mom? Which will it be?_

"Alright, Emily." The words were breathed out on a heavy sigh. "Alright. Fine. Those are names. Family names. _Our_ family. Well…my side of it, anyway…But they don't mean anything anymore."

Mrs. Prentiss had decided to pull her daughter back from the edge, but Emily knew it wouldn't be that easy. She was up against someone skilled in diplomacy and politics; someone who kept secrets for a living.

 _Well, so do I, Mom. There are things I know through working for the FBI that I'll take to the grave. And I know when people are telling half-truths. And I know there's a lot more to the story._

 _And I'm not backing down this time._


	20. Bridges

"Emily, this isn't something that I want to discuss over the phone. Too complicated. Now, I really have to be at work and I'm sure you have things you need to do. So, why don't we…"

"Why don't we cut to the chase then, Mom?" _You are_ _ **not**_ _fobbing me off with some 'we'll talk later' ploy, Mother! Not this time._ "Why don't you just tell me about your side of the family and those names…and anything else that you're hiding?"

When she replied, the outrage in the ambassador's voice was both genuine and strategic, dredging up ancient history as a diversion. "Hiding?! Oh, please, Emily…If you want to start tossing around accusations and dramatics, I'll be forced to bring up some of the unsavory secrets _you_ kept from _me_ the whole time you were growing up… _ **still**_ keep from me!" There was an undertone of hurt in her mother's words that made Prentiss go very, very still.

She _had_ kept secrets.

One in particular from her teenage years had left scars that still hadn't faded. Would never. She'd uncover them every now and then when she was feeling low; look at them, touch them and marvel at how they still hurt. And wonder if maybe she deserved the pain.

 _But I never told her! I never told_ _ **anyone**_ _except Matthew and…_ Emily's eyes closed in terrible recognition of betrayal. _Father Gamino! But…but he was a priest! He wasn't supposed to tell anyone anything, no matter how much he despised the idea of an abortion..._

The bottom dropped out of her stomach. _But I didn't tell him I was pregnant in the confessional. I just went to him for advice. It wasn't protected information. He must have…he must have…Oh, God…all this time she's known…every time she looked at me, what she must have thought…all these years she_ _ **knew?**_ _…_

XXXXXXXXXX

"All these years you've …you've…and…and never said _any_ thing?" It was a stumbling block that caught Hotch and threw him to the ground, robbing him of breath and logic. There was something cringe-worthy in imagining that people were looking at you, talking about you…knowing things you had buried and kept as painful, guilty secrets. Thinking about them every time they had to deal with you.

If he was such an open book, Hotch wanted to know what he was doing to betray himself. It had to be some sort of 'tell,' but he was so very, very careful; always viewing himself like an out-of-body observer. Always critiquing himself. Always doubting himself. Always working on being above his self-appointed position of unwanted error roaming the face of the earth. He'd thought he was safe from being discovered and seen for what he'd been taught he was; a colossal disappointment.

Rossi ran his arms up and down his friend's shoulders and back, trying to bring warmth into a chilly situation; determined to hold on until he could inject a fresh perspective into what he was beginning to think was a version of social anxiety. _He thinks he's not good enough as is to associate with the rest of the world. Has to maintain a façade that'll keep everyone at a distance so they don't see the wanting, lacking thing he believes himself to be. Thinks he has to be perfect to be deserving of normal, everyday affection._ Dave's arms cinched tighter. _Idiot. Poor, sweet, damaged, noble-minded idiot._

"Would you have _wanted_ me to say anything, Aaron? Do you wanna talk about it _now_?"

The question set Hotch back. Blinking, he forced himself to regain some emotional control. "N-no. No. I…no."

"Well, there you are." It was said softly, accompanied by a briefly tighter squeeze.

Rossi's nonjudgmental, easy acceptance was his foot-in-the-door. It gave the Unit Chief a safe place and a small respite from his own harsh self-image. So Aaron breathed, and tucked his shock and discomfort into a nice, neat compartment, rendering them manageable; trying to trick himself into seeing them as momentary instead of monumental. He pushed himself upright and away from the older man's embrace.

But there were no words. He could only stare into Rossi's eyes inches away; dark eyes filled with confusion and fear looking into those exhibiting only open warmth. A small smile tickled the edges of Dave's lips.

"You want to know why I never mentioned your past before." Statement, not question. Hotch nodded. Rossi shrugged. "Because it matters to you more than to anyone else. Like I said: those who know you, know the important part of you…the you of the here and now…they don't give a rat's ass damn. The past hurts you, and for that I'm sorry, but it doesn't have any effect on those of us who follow you, and admire you, and…love you." He sighed, pushing some of Hotch's stray cowlicks down. Or trying to. "And the second part of your question would be…why do I bring it up now?"

Again, the Unit Chief nodded.

"Because I don't believe in fairytales, and feelings from both your past and present are making you vulnerable and susceptible to them. That's why."

Hotch searched his friend's face for several beats, finding only sincerity and concern. It encouraged him to open up and let just a little of his lingering doubts out. "But…the dreams and…and it wasn't _even_ a dream when Prentiss and I were hiking. It was something else. And it _was_ real. And…"

Rossi took the younger man's shoulders in a gentle, but firm grip, holding eye contact. "Listen to me, Aaron." He took a deep, preparatory breath. "Your childhood and adulthood are connected. I never said anything against Haley, because I knew you loved her. You probably still do; probably always will. But, she played on your vulnerabilities to try and get what she wanted. She made you feel guilty for your job and for the effort you expended on it rather than on being home with her and Jack."

Hotch's brows rose, but Rossi wouldn't allow interruption. "Let me finish. Haley didn't do anything other wives don't do who want their men safe and close. She loved you. The thing is, you had all these buttons installed since childhood that were all about guilt and feelings of failure. So what she said bridged the gap in a really cruel way…a way neither of you could have known. Haley just used a common tool in every woman's arsenal. And you…" He released his hold on Hotch, making another attempt to smooth the man's cowlicks; failing yet again. "…you, in effect, had all that time in between being a kid and being a man, when you should have been healing, ripped away. You're at square one, Aaron. That doesn't happen often.

"Now, you come here and everything you've been bottling up, is roaring down like an avalanche. You're just a dad with normal, parental concerns, but that bridge Haley unwittingly built is finally demanding you deal with it and all the connecting emotions from childhood. That's all this is. Not an otherworldly existence as some kind of pack leader whose family was also taken."

Hotch swallowed. Hotch licked his lips. Finally, Hotch nodded.

It made sense.

But deep in his heart and his soul and his marrow, he didn't believe it for a second.


	21. Conversations in the Night

"What are you talking about, Mom?" Prentiss's voice had a wary, uncharacteristic quaver in it.

"You _know_ , Emily." The statement dripped scorn and disappointment. "You pretend you're all about communication. You say you don't want to play any more games, but you shut me out of your life without a second thought." It might have worked. Elizabeth might have derailed the entire discussion…except for the smug tone that crept into the last few words.

Prentiss had heard it too often as a child whenever her mother had finagled her way to a goal, be it in politics or parenting. Now, the sound of satisfaction sparked the rebellion and anger that was always close to Emily's surface when it came to family matters. She erupted. "It's a two-way street, Mother! If you'd been there for me when I needed you…if you'd been the least bit concerned maybe I would've felt I _could_ talk to you…"

Prentiss heard herself getting shrill despite her throat beginning to tighten with incipient tears. Over the years she _had_ imagined various scenarios where she'd tell her mother about that terrible episode in her young life. She'd always let herself believe that her icy, distant parent would melt into a sympathetic archetype of maternal devotion. _But she knew all along!? Knew what I was going through and didn't reach out! Didn't comfort me! Didn't…didn't_ _ **CARE!**_ _…_

"Emily, I had a very difficult, very important job to do, and you were always so secretive about your friends and your life…You need to understand…"

Prentiss understood alright. She understood that envisioning a mother-daughter session of tearful catharsis was pure fantasy. The realization hit her like an emotional fist in the gut. Her breath roughened into gasps. Her hands shook. This new evidence of the distance between her and Elizabeth brought too much neediness to the fore. Rather than sound weak and whining, Prentiss opted to end the call.

She closed the connection before something as undignified as a sob could be transmitted across the unfeeling airwaves to her mother's equally unfeeling ears. Leaning over, struggling to get herself under control, Emily realized Mom had won yet again. She'd managed to push her daughter away. The only new wrinkle in the exchange was that Prentiss finally had to admit that she'd never get past her mother's defenses. The older woman had much too extensive an arsenal at her disposal. It spanned Emily's entire life, going deep into her very foundation. It was something against which Emily felt helpless.

 _And_ _ **that**_ _is why I didn't want to call Mom, J.J.!_ She straightened, feeling the familiar ache that nearly always attended an encounter with her mother.

But being Prentiss, she rallied.

Being Prentiss, she took a deep breath, squared her shoulders and found the inner core of strength that was her most reliable asset. She returned her attention to her phone. _If blood kin won't help, then my_ _ **other**_ _family will._

"Garcia? I need your expertise…"

XXXXXXXXXX

Elizabeth Prentiss bowed her head over the blank, dead screen of her phone.

She felt the familiar twinge of pain she associated with encounters with Emily. It was mixed with guilt. _But it's too late to undo everything; to change the way it is between us. And if I backtrack now, everything I've shielded her from will surface. It'll all have been for nothing._

She raised her gaze to the grey-blue D.C. skies, tracking a flock of starlings from horizon to horizon.

 _No. This is the way it is. And maybe someday Emily will be a mother, too. Maybe she'll have a daughter who exhibits troubling behavior, and who remembers wings._

 _And maybe, just maybe, without knowing the legends, she'll realize anyway how much love it took to protect her. And I_ _ **do**_ _love you, my beautiful, strange, angry daughter._

Drawing from her inner core of steel, which Elizabeth knew was one of the good things she'd bequeathed her child, she pocketed her phone and headed off to smooth the jagged edges between people whose demands wouldn't involve discussing names like Spalva…or Erglis…or Baladis…

XXXXXXXXXXX

"You better now? Gonna be able to get some rest?" Rossi smoothed the hair on one side of Hotch's head, hoping the affectionate gesture would give a last boost of reassurance that all this nonsense about cyclical lives was just a symptom of unresolved childhood issues.

Hotch nodded, keeping his gaze averted. His eyes strayed to the nightstand clock. "Sorry I kept you up all night, Dave. You must be tired. Sorry."

Rossi closed his eyes for a moment, drawing on what little patience he had left. "Answer my question, Aaron. Do you feel better? Do you get that what's bothering you is understandable and quantifiable and _not_ supernatural?"

Another nod. Realizing it was the best he'd get, Rossi aspirated a small puff of exasperation. Shaking his head, he decided sleep was the best next step. He stood, ready to drag himself back to his own room. "Maybe a few hours of shut-eye will see logic reassert itself in you, Aaron."

"That's rich, coming from you." The sullen response froze Dave in his tracks halfway to the door.

With slow deliberation he turned, confronting the sad, but resentful look in his friend's eyes…and reminded himself that the younger man was hurting and sleepless and still scared of losing his son in some cataclysmic, unpredictable way. _But I'm tired, too. And I'm reaching my limit._

"Something you want to say to me, Aaron?" There was an unintentionally dangerous undertone. Hotch looked away, ashamed of baiting someone he knew was only trying to do him good.

"No. It's nothing."

Rossi came closer. "Whatever it is, you wanna get it off your chest? Now's your chance." A smirk tilted Dave's lips as he adopted a gangster-ish accent. "Who knows…I might even letcha live aftahwads, buddy-boy."

When Hotch looked back at him, it was with an honestly perplexed expression. "Okay. Something _is_ kind of bothering me." Rossi's features smoothed, losing any hint of challenge or levity. He inclined his head, inviting elaboration.

Hotch licked his lips and concentrated on speaking to a nonjudgmental area of the bedspread. "Dave, when we had all that trouble with Prentiss's friend…those killings that resulted from a rogue priest performing exorcisms…I got the feeling that you…that you…" He faded out.

"That I what, Aaron?"

Hotch finally looked up, locking eyes with Rossi. "That you _do_ believe in some things that might be considered supernatural. Like…like demons…and evil…and…" He dropped his gaze again. "You even consulted with a priest you said was an old friend. It made me think that you _do_ believe there are things we can't explain that surround us and affect our lives." He paused, frowning. "Was I wrong, Dave? Did I misinterpret that whole case when it came to your personal beliefs?"

Silence stretched. Hotch studied the hotel bedspread. Rossi studied Hotch.

At last he sighed and resumed his seat on the mattress edge beside the younger man.

"No. You're right. I do have some beliefs tied to my Roman Catholic upbringing that wouldn't stand scientific scrutiny." He took a deep breath. "But I don't turn to them as a first line of explanation. I try to rule out every other possibility before I let them enter the picture. Which is why I still think you should talk to Reid about his experience with that regression hypnotism he underwent. And I think we should have Garcia do a little research into this Madame Fortuneteller, too. For all we know, Aaron, she might have had some brush with an unsub or a case where she might have heard of our team. I mean…you were assigned here in Seattle for a few years. It's a possibility that she knows enough about us to put on a pretty good show.

"I'm not discounting what you're feeling, Aaron. But I think we need to rule out everything else before opening the door on the paranormal. Can you understand that?"

Hotch nodded, releasing a long, shuddering sigh of relief. "Okay. I'll talk to Reid, but…Dave, there's something weird going on here. It's not just a trick. Prentiss felt it, too."

"Yeah. Prentiss." Rossi ran a weary hand over his beard. "We should touch bases with her, too, but I'm beat. I gotta get some sleep. So do you." He gave his friend a concerned look. "You want me to stay with you until you doze off? I don't mind…"

"No." At last a sheepish half-smile touched Hotch's grim expression. "I'm a big boy. Don't need a babysitter anymore. But…thanks, Dave. For everything."

"Okay. Good." Rossi stood, giving the Unit Chief's shoulders a brief squeeze. "I'm just down the hall if you need me. G'night."

"Night."

XXXXXXXXXXXX

Hotch heard the door latch and lock as Rossi left, pulling it closed behind him.

He curled down into the sheets, trying to get comfortable. It was one of those times he hated, when he felt too tired to sleep. The nightstand clock said it was nearing 7 a.m.. He closed his eyes, determined to make an effort.

The soft, insistent knocking at his door roused him just as he was about to drift off. Frowning, Hotch threw back the bedding and struggled to his feet. He padded to the door, thinking Rossi might have some last bit of wisdom to impart before seeking his own rest.

"What is it, Da…"

Aaron threw open the door and blinked.

Standing in the entrance was a very wide-awake Prentiss, bristling with energy.

"Hotch, I'm glad you're up…" It was her turn to blink as her eyes traveled her boss's length, realizing he was clad only in boxers and a t-shirt. For a moment she wavered, on the brink of retreating. But the exchange with her mother had infused her with angry determination. "You need a minute to get dressed? I can wait out here."

The Unit Chief slumped. "I, uh…I haven't been to sleep yet." He wanted to tell her he needed a few hours to himself, but every 'tell' she had was in full bloom.

He couldn't turn away a teammate in need.

Stepping to one side, Hotch ushered Prentiss in. "Just let me get a robe." He sighed. "Then we can talk and..."

"No!" Prentiss turned, expression earnest. "Don't put on a robe. I need to touch you. Don't worry. It'll only take a minute."

Eyes wide, Hotch realized he didn't feel sleepy at all anymore.


	22. Magic Touch

Garcia's fingers flew.

She performed her digital sorcery on sites that only a rare few others could access and mesh as efficiently as she. And the cherry-on-top of her current flurry of activity was that it had been instigated by Prentiss.

Penelope was in awe of this particular female field agent. J.J. was the tech analyst's friend for cooing over more girly pursuits, but Emily was the dark, furtive presence in her life that drew her like a magnet. Emily was the embodiment of many of Garcia's secret fantasies she never shared. These weren't of the sexual variety. No. Morgan had the monopoly on that. But there were times Penelope let herself drift and imagine herself sleek and svelte and black-clad and armed. Dangerous. Perilous. Alpha.

In short, Garcia was fascinated by Prentiss.

So she was uniquely honored to be taken into the woman's confidence, especially when it involved such personal issues as family background and dream images. As Garcia performed her digital dance, she replayed Prentiss's words.

' _Hotch and I went back to Madame Sobrani.'_ This widened the techie's eyes. And fed some of her other secret fantasies; ones that tied the dark and dashing teammates together in a very Cathy-and-Heathcliff way. She didn't dare go as far as Romeo-and-Juliet, but she did think the duo would make a jaw-droppingly stunning pair if one could ever get them to pose arm in arm.

' _She gave me some names I'd like you to research…'_ When Garcia had taken the list Prentiss had written down, she cocked her head to one side like an inquisitive sparrow, prompting Emily to sit down and reveal more.

' _They're supposed to be names from wherever my 'true language' originated. You know…You heard that part…'_ Prentiss had shrugged. _'…from wherever and whenever I had wings or something…whatever…'_ Despite the casual indifference of her body language, Emily seemed more than intense. She seemed driven. Maybe even verging on subtle desperation.

Garcia had the same initial reaction that J.J. did. "Maybe you should just ask your mom? Or someone else in your family? I mean…" She pushed her pale lavender glasses higher on her snub nose. "…wouldn't that be easier?"

Prentiss had grunted, shrugged again, and pressed her lips together, demonstrating no desire to engage in any further discussion of parental matters.

Watching, Penelope had mirrored her teammate's grimacing lips. _Why is it that every single one of us has some God-awful button installed by the God-awful things that are part of our God-awful pasts?_

Her mind roved over Morgan's abusive, fatherless past…Reid's lonely childhood caring for a damaged mother…J.J.'s struggle to leave a small town where her sister had killed herself…her own loss of both parents and the tidal wave of grief that followed…

She didn't know the details, but clearly Prentiss could step in line right along with the rest of them. Only Rossi and Hotch kept their formative years to themselves. Garcia attributed Dave with being old enough to have perfected privacy. But her Unit Chief wasn't as adept. Yet. _Give Hotch another decade and maybe he'll be able to be as debonair and aloof about it as Rossi, but right now there's just something dark and painful always hovering around him. Prentiss is kinda the same…Maybe why they seem to be cut from the same cloth…and would look_ _ **so**_ _good together…_

So Garcia agreed to help Emily as much as she could.

To that end, Prentiss opened up. There were the names. And the dreams. And the hiking. And her mother's lifelong avoidance spanning from when her little girl would confide how much she loved flying in those recurring dreams to the latest confrontation.

Garcia went to work while Emily went off to 'see about something.'

The tech analyst hardly noticed her teammate's departure, because what she began to find caught her breath and riveted her to her screen.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Tuh…t-touch?" Hotch didn't know if it was fatigue or shock that was making his tongue feel too thick to manipulate vowels and consonants. "Whu…wha…why…"

Prentiss gave her hair an impatient toss. "Oh, for God's sake, Hotch! I just wanna see if there's even a vague impression of what I felt when I touched you on the mountain!"

She'd been trying to develop some sort of logic about the experience. It made no sense, but Emily wanted to see if the weirdness was due to that wild place Reid swore didn't exist, or the combination of company; some alchemical reaction between her and her boss.

Hotch backed away a step. Exhaustion was impairing his ability to understand this strange intrusion. He almost wished he'd let Rossi stay. He thought having a babysitter might not have been such a bad idea. Or a chaperon.

"Prentiss, I…I haven't been to bed…I haven't slept since…since…" His brain balked at simple math, wanting only to close itself off and dream.

 _Dream?! No! No more chains…no more fighting…no more death…no…no…_

No, maybe he didn't want to go to sleep after all.

"Hotch, it's just an idea. An experiment. And maybe I'm crazy, but…" She shivered at tactile memory. "…but when I touched you, I could have sworn you weren't…I thought you were…" She couldn't say it. Couldn't say _'I thought you were an animal. I dug my fingers into your fur and it slid between them. Soft. Thick. Beast…'_

She didn't _need_ to say it. Having thought of dreams, Hotch's mind was already on the same track. And he remembered the sensation of long, dark, feathered wings enveloping him, trying to protect him.

And it would feel so good to be protected right now. Even for just a moment. And especially by someone who wouldn't question him or point to his childhood as the source of something he knew, just _knew_ , was elemental and fundamental and always had been part of him. The scary part was if it always _would_ be part of him. Just for a moment to feel cloaked and safe… _I'm so tired_ …He'd almost give his soul…

"Okay." He stepped closer, head lowering, eyes closing in weary assent. "Okay. Touch me…"


	23. Caves of Sigulda

Now that Hotch had given his permission and stood before her, the picture of resigned submission, Prentiss hesitated.

She'd been hell-bent on achieving her goal: trying to see if she could recreate part of the experience she and the Unit Chief had shared on the mountain. She needed some shred of reassurance that it wasn't all some bizarre, mutual hallucination. But with her boss standing so close, waiting for whatever might come, she was suddenly aware of his sheer physical presence. Even in his underwear without the sartorial armor of suit and tie, there was something imposing about him. Emily tilted her head to one side, assessing the situation. On their hike, she had swept down upon him with no qualms whatsoever.

 _He needed comfort. There was no time to think. But now…now he's too tall. When we were out there, wherever 'there' was, he was crouched down. I could lean over and cover his head and shoulders; shield him._ She didn't think before saying…

"You need to get on your knees."

There was enough time during the next few frozen beats for her to mentally slap herself. Repeatedly. Hard. When Hotch's head lifted in slow trepidation, the look in his dark, sad eyes was painful. And perfect. She knew exactly what it reminded her of.

Prentiss caught her breath. _It's the look of a dog or wolf or some other loyal creature when it's been betrayed. That 'why is this happening to me?' look._

"Hotch…listen. I didn't mean that the way it sounded. I'm sorry." She felt herself getting mired down in the deep sorrow that always lurked in her leader's depths, but then the iron that was omnipresent in her own hardened her resolve. _Don't get sidetracked. Remember how it was…He was more than sad…he was desperate, distraught on that mountain. Maybe it's okay if he's like this now. Maybe it'll help recreate that…that…_ She shook her head. There was no name for the experience. _Transformation? Arcane perception?_

And now her Unit Chief was eyeing the carpeted floor, his entire posture broadcasting reluctance.

"No, Hotch…it's okay." Prentiss cast about for a viable alternative that would avoid putting her boss in a position that exhibited not just submission, but supplication. She brightened. "Here…Just sit on the edge of the bed, okay? C'mon…" Eager to continue with this experiment, she nudged the tall, scantily clad form toward the mattress edge, turning it around, pushing it down.

Hotch shivered a little, but otherwise remained complacent despite his discomfort. When Emily clambered up onto the bed, taking a position kneeling behind him, Hotch's muscles tensed. His lack of proper clothing let his teammate see just how uneasy he was; the thin cotton didn't do much in the way of concealment as shoulder blades tightened. His whole torso did a kind of ripple. He was on guard.

Prentiss swallowed. This felt more like attacking Hotch than comforting. But having come this far…

…she leaned down, closed her eyes, and swept her arms around him, pressing herself against his back and shoulders just as she had before…

XXXXXXXXXXXX

Garcia gaped at her screen; eyes wide; jaw slack.

"Ohhhhh…This is so amazingly, weirdly cool…And it makes the term 'raven-haired' just so…so…so much more…right…somehow…" Her voice faded as she paged down through the photographs of Baltic cave paintings.

She scrabbled through her purse, unearthing a pen topped with a pink-spangled ostrich feather, which seemed oddly appropriate, and began to jot down notes.

The names Prentiss had given her were still in use today. In Latvia. And it turned out the old fortuneteller had already given the exact translation of each. In Latvian. 'Spalva' was the word for 'feather.' 'Erglis' meant 'eagle.' 'Balodis' could be either 'dove' or 'pigeon.'

Armed with that Garcia had done ancestry research, tracing the histories of each ancient surname. Her talents had been challenged as she delved into foreign records. Luckily, it seemed genealogy had an avid following in the countries surrounding the Baltic Sea. Tiny villages had offered up their handwritten records to enterprising volunteers for data entry. It was just a matter of being patient enough to follow the path through time and distance.

There were enough to form a pattern that tweaked Garcia's professional interest. Sometimes she just _knew_ when she was on the right trail.

All the 'winged names,' as Penelope dubbed them, had altered and become scarcer in the present-day world. But the farther back she went, the more of them surfaced. In contemporary times they were scattered, peppering the countryside in sparser and sparser frequency. But centuries before, they were concentrated… _like a flock!_ , thought Garcia…around an area labeled the Riga district near a town called Sigulda.

Following her instincts, the tech analyst strayed from the diminishing genealogical evidence, opting instead to search for anything unique about the general location where the names seem to have originated.

Which is when she found the cave.

Apparently, the country was riddled with them. But this one was special. Garcia scrawled more notes… The cave was called Peteris. It was a long, deep, narrow trench carved through sandstone. The oddest thing about it were the prehistoric petroglyphs that had been discovered fairly recently. Penelope's adrenaline began to rise as she read the reason for these arcane images having escaped detection for so long.

They were several meters above ground level, high on the face of a sheer, sheltered wall. Virtually inaccessible. Virtually hidden in the darkness of the stone formation. It was a mystery how they had been accomplished in the first place. Heart speeding, Garcia opened the link to photos that had been taken by raising a remotely controlled camera on a stanchion up to the level of the ancient artwork.

That was when her mouth went dry and her respiration stuttered to a temporary halt.

The figures were crude, but instantly recognizable. A village of people going about the daily business of their lives. When features could be discerned, they were aquiline, elegant. Bits of color indicated dark, flowing hair was the norm. And wings. Every one of the creatures was endowed with long, powerful depictions of wings. Sometimes outspread. Sometimes folded neatly at rest. Their carriage and features reminded her of Prentiss.

Garcia stared. And decided the primitive look of the artwork was understandable.

What else could one expect when the artist was likely hovering in midair, wings beating, as he worked?


	24. Exhale

Garcia's pen had stopped its frantic scrawling.

There was no way to convey the strangeness of the information she'd found; no way to capture her nervous excitement in mere words. Notes were useless. She needed to bring her laptop to Prentiss and show her all the things she'd bookmarked in her search; take the agent on the same journey of discovery she herself had traveled; elicit the same awestruck response.

Penelope's own inquisitive intellect was hungering for more. Her techie sixth sense told her there _was_ more…much more. Impatience warred with the sheer pleasure of discovery. As much as she wanted to explore further, she had to share what she'd found so far. Doing so bordered on compulsion.

Garcia whipped out her cell and pressed the speed dial for Prentiss.

And waited.

And waited.

And frowned when she was dumped into voicemail.

 _Emily! You sounded super-urgent when you asked me to research this stuff! So where are you? Why aren't you answering?_

Penelope _had_ to tell someone. After a frustrated second attempt to call Prentiss, she grumbled her discontent and went with her gut instinct, telling herself it wasn't betraying a confidence if she just displayed her search results as though they had no connection whatsoever to a teammate.

 _And_ , she assured herself, _it'll be like investigating on a deeper level. Just using a different set of resources. If anyone knows weird trivia, it'll be Reid…_

XXXXXXXXXXX

Hotch's body felt like stone beneath Prentiss's touch.

He was so tense his muscles had locked solid. Pressed against his back, she could feel the rapid racing of his heart. His shallow, adrenaline-driven breaths barely expanded his lungs. She took her own deep breath. _I'm not helping. This isn't working. The guy's one big inhale when he needs to_ _ **exhale**_ _and let stuff out._ Her stomach cringed a little. _And maybe I'm only doing more damage; upsetting him when he said himself he hasn't had any sleep…and that means he's extra vulnerable._

So she did what she thought of as an apology. Since her mind was more on their previous hike than in their present hotel room, Prentiss went with her first impulse. Leaning in as she was, it took very little movement to bring her lips close to the back of her Unit Chief's ear. She whispered, accompanying her words with a brief, regretful tightening of her arms around him.

"I'm sorry, Hotch…so sorry…about…about your family…"

Hotch shuddered, emitting a small, involuntary whimper. It went to her heart. It also reminded her in a most uncanny way of canine distress. Emily squeezed her eyes shut in sympathetic angst. "…so, so sorry…about the…the pups…your pups…"

Hotch's reaction was immediate and seemed reflexive; an involuntary response to a stimulus too strong to bear. He had been bent over under Prentiss's weight. Now the body in her grip strained upward out of the confinement of her arms.

But not to escape her.

Not to shake her off.

Hotch stretched long and sleek from his waist, chest expanding, lungs filling, muscles rippling in that peculiar way that reminded Prentiss of a powerful, untamed beast.

In the next moment, she got the exhalation she'd been thinking he needed.

In pure, animal grief, Aaron howled his misery to the uncaring ceiling. He keened his loss. And because it was a very good hotel with very thick walls, the guests were not disturbed.

Emily renewed her hold and leaned into Hotch, feeling his sorrow as though it were her own. _Maybe_ _ **that's**_ _what it takes. It_ _ **is**_ _like something alchemical, only the key wasn't the place…it was the shared emotion…So strong…emotion from creatures only recently human…Oh my God, my poor Hotch…_

When the sensation of pelt flowed beneath her fingers, she felt exultant rather than alarmed.

XXXXXXXXXXX

"Cool."

Reid rendered his opinion as he and Garcia lay on their stomachs, sided by side on the bed in his room, both focused on the images on her laptop. "What set you off looking this stuff up?"

"Ummm…nothing." Penelope's eyes darted. "Just, you know, killing time."

"Well, it's really cool, you know?" He squinted at the vague images of the cave paintings. And then squinted some more. "Whoa….these kind of look like Prentiss."

"Prentiss? Emily? Uh…no…I don't think so." Garcia's second thoughts intruded. She was beginning to regret her impulse to bring Reid into this gambit even if it were more fairytale than fact. His brain was too sharp. The chance that he'd infiltrate and uncover all sorts of information better kept private, too great.

But then the young genius set all her fears to rest, and validated all her hopes and gambles.

"You know this area of the world is terrifically bird-oriented, don't you?"

Penelope gritted her teeth to keep from whooping or saying too much. "Wha…What'd'you mean?"

"I _mean_ …that that whole part of the globe has cultural ties to all things bird." Reid was teasing this information as though it were common knowledge. And maybe it was, but Garcia hadn't bothered to delve into the symbolism and folk legends of the Baltic until now, and she had a feeling there was more to the tip-of-the-iceberg she'd only just uncovered. She vacillated between denial in order to protect Prentiss's part in this research, and abject acceptance…because she really _did_ want to know what strange, legendary past was haunting the team's female alpha.

Reid gave a little shiver of joy at finding an opportunity to grace the workaday world with his extraordinary, encyclopedic perceptions.

He nestled his chin into the knuckles of his folded hands and gave a contented sigh. "Bird imagery pervades the culture of that part of the world." He gave Garcia a sidelong glance. "The Baltic countries are a crossroads. Over the centuries they've been invaded over and over again. Mongols. Vikings. Russians. It just never stops."

Penelope wrinkled her nose. "Yeah? So?"

"Sooooo…" Reid's eyes went distant with historical appreciation. "…where do you thing the Russian nobility came up with their official symbol…the double-headed eagle?" His lips spread in a beatific grin. "What do you think inspired those Russian ballets, 'The Firebird?' and 'Swan Lake?' No other culture has so much bird symbolism and bird worship. It had to come from somewhere!"

Spencer turned his gaze onto Garcia. "And where do you think the whole Russian, Baltic, Slavic impulse came from to create something as splendid as Faberge eggs? The quintessential beginnings of birds?" He nestled down to look at the display on the laptop again.

"Bird-people. Kind of like the ongoing debate about mer-people, you know? Weird." Reid narrowed his eyes at the cave painting photos.

"But it's really strange…they _do_ look a lot like Prentiss…"


	25. The Art of Sharing

"Hotch…Hotch…Awwww, Hotch…I'm sorry… I'm sorry, Hotch…I'm _so_ sorry…"

Prentiss managed to keep her arms around her teammate, even achieving a slight semblance of rocking him as she chanted the words that were cold comfort, but the best she could do. Guilt washed over her. On some level she'd known bringing up the bit about pups would touch a nerve in Hotch, if there was anything at all remaining of their odd experience on the mountain. _And I_ _ **wanted**_ _to be able to recreate it._ _ **I**_ _wanted it. Didn't matter what it would do to anyone else. Selfish…_

"Hotch…Hotch…shhhhhh….shhhhh…"

She closed her eyes and trusted her sense of touch. There _had_ been the feeling of an animal's pelt beneath her fingers. If she concentrated, there was still a lingering impression of it. But it was fading. Hotch was coming back. _From where? That's the sixty-four thousand dollar question…_

The Unit Chief quieted; shudders turning to shivers; shivers lessening until all that remained of the outburst was quiet panting and a return of muscular tension as he realized where he was and what had happened.

His voice, normally like smooth thunder, sounded as though his vocal cords had been scraped over gravel. "Prentiss?"

Emily released the pressure of her grip slightly, pushing back enough to be able to look at Hotch's profile as he tried to turn toward her. She decided not to notice that his eyes were wet. She could feel her phone vibrating in her pocket, and became aware that it might have been doing so for some time. She continued to ignore it.

"H-e-e-e-y, Hotch…you okay?" She used the same tone she did when cajoling her cat Sergio: patient, gentle…tender.

The Unit Chief took a moment to assess himself. His breathing evened out. Prentiss released him and scooted around so they were sitting side by side on the edge of the bed. At last, Hotch spoke, rubbing his hands over his eyes, hoping the dampness he felt had gone unremarked, knowing deep inside he was kidding himself; of course she'd seen it. Then he realized he didn't care. There were much more important things going on here, and Emily was the only one who seemed to share some measure of the experience. The only one who wouldn't doubt him.

"I don't know." He saw the deepening concern in her regard and amended his response. "I'm okay…I'm okay…" He bent his neck, looking her straight in the eye. "Prentiss, what was that? You did the wing thing again."

"I…I did?" She hadn't been aware of any change in herself; only in him. "You did the fur thing again. I felt it."

Their gazes remained locked, unblinking, until Hotch gave a deep sigh, his look turning mournful and a little scared. "Prentiss, what's happening to us?" There was no answer, but he didn't really expect one. "Rossi thinks it's all traceable to unresolved, uh, _issues_ …you know?" He was reluctant to go into detail.

Emily's snort was part derision, part frustration. "That sounds like something my mother would say."

"The ambassador? You talked to her? You told her about this…this whatever-it-is?" There was a slight edge of panic to his voice. Prentiss thought she understood: Hotch was a career-man. The last thing he'd want was for the gossip-fueled political circles of the nation's upper echelons to be whispering about the FBI agent who thought he might be a reincarnated dog. Or wolf. Or _any_ thing.

"No…I mean, I didn't mention you. I just asked about those words Madame Sobrani said. 'Spalva' and the others. That's all."

"Oh. Okay." Hotch nodded, releasing breath he hadn't known he was holding. He sat a little straighter. "What did she say?"

Prentiss did an encore of her snort. "Nothing. She did what she always does. Deflects. Reroutes. Avoids." One corner of her mouth lifted in a wry display of humor. "You know…what she does all day with everyone she meets."

"Your mother's a formidable diplomat. I respect her, but…"

"But you wish people would stop sidestepping and believe us? 'Cause we know this isn't just a psychological glitch?"

"Yeah."

"Me, too."

They sat in silence for a few minutes, lost in their own thoughts until Hotch realized two things. First, he was tired and needed sleep in order to think clearly. Second, he wasn't wearing much and he was becoming far too aware of his teammate's body heat beside him. "Uh…Prentiss…"

"Mmmm?" She glanced at her boss and then, in a sudden move, twisted to one side, digging into a pocket. "Damn. My phone keeps going off. And I keep letting it go to voicemail…" Before Hotch could continue, she answered. "Hi, Garcia. Find anything?" She didn't notice her leader's eyes widen.

Prentiss nodded, once again electrified, bristling with energy. "Really? You're not kidding me?...Wait a minute…you told Reid?" Anger edged her voice, but receded in the next heartbeat. "Oh…oh, okay. That's alright then….Sure. Give me ten minutes. I'll meet you downstairs."

She cut the connection, speaking as she slid her cell back into her pocket. "Garcia found a whole bunch of interesting stuff about the bird thing. And as usual Reid's just full of theories and…" She finally looked up at Hotch and paused, noting his desolate expression. "What? What's wrong?"

"Prentiss…you said you didn't tell your mother about this…" He licked newly-dry lips. "Who _did_ you tell?"

"Well…J.J….and Garcia…and maybe Reid knows some of it; I'm not sure, but…" She shook her head, looking indignant. "…but only the things that pertain to me, Hotch. I didn't say anything about…about wolves…or fur…or…or pups." She saw that even now the word made him flinch. And that brought out her inner steel.

Prentiss shifted position so they were face to face, only inches apart.

"Hotch, you can't keep this to yourself any more. If Rossi's answers weren't enough, then maybe it's time to open up…at least to Garcia and Reid. They're the ones who can help us, if anyone can." She watched him, unable to decipher his thought processes.

His lips thinned. "I'm tired, Prentiss. Really tired. I need sleep."

She nodded, looking disappointed.

"But after I get some rest, okay…" He echoed her nod, but it looked as though it had as much to do with defeat as agreement. "I need to talk to Reid about some hypnosis he went through a while back anyway, so…"

"So you'll let us help you."

Prentiss's smile was radiant. _Troubles shared are troubles halved, Hotch. About time you learned that…_


	26. Artifact

Ambassador Elizabeth Prentiss was distracted all day.

Her responses weren't as targeted as usual. Her perception of political nuance was dulled. As Hotch was terming her 'formidable' in a different time zone, she was feeling ineffective. By mid-afternoon she was fed up with herself.

And it was all Emily's fault.

 _I know her better than she knows herself._ Elizabeth frowned as she decided to cut her losses and call it a day. She organized her briefcase, taking documents she'd spend the evening perusing for loopholes that would allow some of the former Soviet satellite countries to become less economically dependent on Mother Russia.

She shrugged into her coat and made an absentminded way down to the garage where her official, government car was waiting, all the while thinking of her troublesome daughter. _It's only a matter of time before she finds something…some ancient legend or primitive artifact that'll spark more questions. Emily won't let go until she finds answers. If she finds them without my input, she'll just resent me more than she already does._

The ambassador tossed her briefcase onto the passenger seat and slumped over the steering wheel, admitting partial defeat in the matter of her progeny. _Maybe I should be part of this…this…journey Emily's decided to embark upon, but it would be so much easier if she'd just stop…if she'd just trust me to know what's best for her…_ A mirthless chuckle worked its way up, springing from her fine sense of irony. _But then, my mother and grandmother and great-grandmother surely said the same about me._

Elizabeth took a deep breath, blowing it out slowly between pursed lips, unknowingly exhibiting the same 'tell' her daughter did when troubled. She gazed at the blank concrete wall of the garage, seeing a younger version of herself pestering her relatives for answers. The world had seemed so black-and-white then. Now, she lived in gray. Except for one thing. A small, grim smile appeared. Her circumspect love for her only child was bright and Technicolor and pulsing.

She remembered Emily's birth. _I was so scared when I went into the hospital, but I emerged a lioness; all fierce protective instinct. Maybe it's time for the method of protection to change. Maybe knowledge will arm my girl better than secrecy._

She turned the key in the ignition, pulled out of her parking space, and drove to the garage exit. Her heart sped up. _Oh, Emily. I hope I'm doing the right thing._

Elizabeth took a right instead of the left that would have set her on the road for home.

She drove toward First Public Bank, where a deposit box she'd hoped never to open waited.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

"Where _were_ you!? I've been trying to reach you all _mor_ ning!" Garcia's breathless delivery sounded as though she'd been running laps rather than sitting in the hotel dining room craning her neck to catch the first glimpse of Prentiss.

"I was talking to Hotch. Sorry, but it just wasn't the right time to pick up, you know?" Emily took a seat, realizing she was ravenous. "God, I'm starving. So…tell me _every_ thing." When the response was silence, she glanced up, seeing Penelope's wide-eyed incredulity. "What?"

"Uh…I…uh…" The tech analyst ducked her head. "N-nothing…nothing."

"Garcia, spill it. What? Have I sprouted green scales or something?"

"No, uh…no…it's just…" She fidgeted with her silverware, arranging and rearranging. "…just…you know…you and Hotch and…and you couldn't take a call…and…and you're starving…ummm…and, uh…"

"Garcia!" Prentiss didn't know whether to be outraged or amused. Then the image of her Unit Chief in his underwear intruded, pressed close, wrapped in her arms. She decided the best thing to do was to move on. Quickly. "Jeez. All I did was run a couple things by him. Needed his opinion. Jeez..." She demonstrated what she hoped would be interpreted as complete indifference by perusing the menu's breakfast offerings.

Penelope blinked, realizing just because Morgan starred in her own daydreams, that didn't necessarily mean any other of her teammates had salacious inclinations. She gave herself a mental shake and switched gears; an easy maneuver considering her excitement over the results of her bird-research, and the fact that Prentiss asked…

"So where's the picture you wanted to show me? And…" Emily tried not to let her anxiety show. "…exactly how much of what I told you does Reid know?"

"Oh! Nothing! I didn't mention you at all! But…uh…" Garcia looked a bit crestfallen. "…but Boy Genius noticed some, you know, _similarities_ to what I found and…well, he's been putting two and two together…and it wasn't hard to do, 'cause…well…here…Look!" Her fingers flew over the keyboard of her laptop wedged in between the place settings. "Here! Look!" She turned the screen toward Prentiss and had the satisfaction of seeing her coworker's brows rise.

"Holy…" Emily leaned closer; nose almost touching the monitor.

"I know, right?! How cool is that!"

Prentiss stared at a close-up of one of the cave paintings. Garcia had exercised a little digital sleight of hand and restored some of the more patchy and worn bits, but even without that, the resemblance was eerie.

Emily looked into the depthless, dark eyes of a young woman with cheekbones, nose and chin that might have been those of a sister. She was pale-skinned, raven-haired; poised with one hand extended as though in supplication. A gown of deep, flowing crimson draped her athletic figure. Around her neck was what looked like an elaborate arrangement of carved turquoise amulets.

But it was the long wings, black-feathered, outspread, that rendered Prentiss speechless.

Her mind, however, whirled. After a few minutes, she regained her composure. "Garcia…w-where is this?"

"A place called Sigulda. It's…"

"It's Baltic, right?" Emily interrupted, voice faint.

"Yeah. It is. How'd you…?"

"Because that's the area where my mother's people came from." She couldn't look away from the image. The woman seemed to be beckoning her.

 _I have to get Hotch down here. He said he saw wings on me. Twice now. He has to tell me if this is what they looked like._

XXXXXXXXXXXX

Ambassador Prentiss's steps were slow and deliberate.

She gave herself plenty of time to change her mind.

She entered the bank, approached a teller, and asked to be given access to safety deposit box #312. She produced ID and her key. She followed the manager summoned by the teller into the secured area where silence and a heavy quality to the air were evidence of the thick, reinforced walls surrounding her.

She turned her key along with the one produced by the bank manager. She was escorted to a private, inner room where she was left to open the sleek, steel box that had been locked up for so very, very long.

It had been there as long as the bank itself; brought in by Elizabeth's own mother. Before that, it had been kept in a series of home safes. Before that, a variety of more primitive containers. Sometimes it had been buried underground. Sometimes secreted in the hollowed trunks of ancient trees.

And once it had been kept in a cave.

The Smithsonian would have paid a pretty penny to acquire it.

Elizabeth took a deep breath and lifted the lid. She gazed down at the contents.

The turquoise amulets glowed like slices of a summer sky.


	27. Busted

Hotch sat on the bed, unmoving, for a full ten minutes after Prentiss left.

He wasn't accustomed to this much emotional turmoil. He _definitely_ wasn't used to sharing it. Emily's admonition that he do so set a cold nugget of dread rolling around in the pit of his stomach. He tried to compartmentalize, to back away from everything and do an objective analysis of himself.

Couldn't. The sharing-thing had him in its grip and wouldn't let go.

He remembered Rossi saying something similar when the older man had come out of retirement and returned to the BAU. Hotch had kept his split with Haley very, very quiet, holding his private pain close. And Dave had taken him to task for it, telling him that sharing was a learned skill. The Unit Chief had known that Rossi had been hurt by his secrecy. He still thought of Aaron as his special project; the young agent he'd taken under his wing and nurtured, knowing the Bureau's future depended on such rare finds.

In truth, Hotch hadn't meant to exclude Rossi from the mileposts of his personal life. It just hurt too much to bring up the subject of his failed marriage. And knowing Dave had weathered the same three times over made him think the older man might have a cavalier attitude that Aaron just plain didn't want to hear. He'd hugged the divorce to himself, considering it validation of what he'd been told so often by his father and Haley and every bully along the way who could sense his vulnerability:

'You're not doing things right.'

'You're not trying hard enough.'

'You're wrong.'

'You're not good enough.'

'You're a failure…'

He dropped his face into his hands and scrubbed in frustration, as though the action could erase past experiences or rearrange his psyche into something others would find more acceptable. Because Hotch knew the foundation for his overweening desire for privacy.

He'd had to hide his feelings and thoughts, and even his physical presence beginning at the age of seven. Hotchner, Sr. had made such tactics necessary to Aaron's survival. And Aaron had been a smart boy. He'd learned fast, and he'd learned well.

And he'd had no idea such skills would come back to haunt him in adulthood.

The thought of opening up and sharing his soul terrified him.

With a heartfelt groan, Hotch slipped between the sheets and snuggled down, trying to get comfortable. _I can open up to Dave, but it was hard learning how to do that and he has to keep reminding me…like I need remedial training every once in a while for something that comes effortlessly to others._ He twisted and turned; body unable to rest because the mind couldn't.

He closed his eyes and tried to reroute his train of thought, but all roads led to troubled places.

After a few more minutes of fruitless effort, Hotch gave up. He dragged himself upright, head hanging.

His joints were beginning to ache from having had no down-time to rest and repair themselves. His brain felt clogged and foggy with fatigue. Disconsolate, he left his comfortless bed, padded into the bathroom and stared at his sleep-deprived face in the mirror.

It was useless. The only reprieve his mind found from the impending dread of sharing his deepest fears was when it fastened on the one-sided conversation he'd heard Prentiss conducting on her cell with Garcia.

Weariness blunted his cognitive processes, but after gazing at his reflection for a few minutes, Hotch realized the added prod of curiosity made sleep impossible. He heaved a great sigh of defeat.

Prentiss had said she'd meet Garcia downstairs. He assumed in the dining room.

With robotic movements and glazed regard, Hotch dressed and set out to find his teammates.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Hey, guys. What's up?" J.J.'s soft voice broke through Prentiss's rapt attention as she stared, transfixed by the cave painting of the winged woman.

The liaison slid into a seat, glancing at Garcia's laptop in passing. It took a moment for the image she'd seen to register. When it did, J.J. stiffened, eyes widening. "What the…?"

"I _know_!" Penelope bounced in her chair with appreciative excitement. The three women would have launched into an in-depth analysis of the techie's findings if Reid hadn't chosen that moment to make an appearance, bringing his own unique, intellectual blend to the proceedings.

Since Prentiss had only confided in Garcia and J.J. concerning birds, the trio closed ranks as the young genius approached. Conversation took a detour into less avian territory.

"So what's good here? Wha'd you guys have?" Emily scanned the menu again.

Penelope closed her laptop, her dither reflex clicking in. "Good?...uh…good…I…uh…um…"

J.J. leaped to the rescue. "Well, I tried the French toast yesterday. I highly recommend it."

Reid settled himself at the table. He dispensed no greetings, opting instead to rummage in his ever-present satchel. He pulled out his own laptop, booted up, and hunched over the keyboard, typing with intense concentration.

The women's deceptively bland patter faded as the youngest agent took unwitting focus. They exchanged glances. Three sets of brows rose when Reid muttered, "Quit staring at me. And the jig is up, Prentiss. You and Hotch are busted."

Spines stiffened, but not due to Reid's words.

Standing directly behind the young genius was a very grim, very weary Unit Chief.

XXXXXXXXXXX

Reid spared a brief glance for his seated teammates, lingering for a second on Prentiss. "What? You didn't think I'd figure out something happened with you and Hotch during your hike? And then you went to Madame Sobrani…just the two of you? And then Garcia's doing bird research 'just 'cause?' And then the way those cave paintings looked?" He rolled his eyes. "Gimme a break…"

"Uh…Spence…?" J.J. caught his attention, her eyes fixed a few feet above him. But Reid was in his zone, bursting with discoveries and theories. His voice took on the crisp, rapid cadence that meant he was looking forward to being the bearer of information.

"Now, granted the basic precept is a little difficult to take, but I'm guessing whatever happened to you guys made it a lot easier to accept that you have a connection to, if not birds, then something winged, and for Hotch it would have to be along the lines of…"

This time Prentiss was the one who interrupted, and much more sharply than J.J. had. "REID! Can it!" The liaison had wanted to alert their young colleague just on general principle; it was always prudent to be aware when one's boss was present. Emily's concern was very different. She might think Hotch should let down some of his walls, but the first move had to come from him…not from Reid's overzealous foray into God-knew-what mythology. "Re-e-eid…" Her voice lilted with warning.

The doctor stumbled to a halt, blinking and finally giving his co-worker more than cursory attention. "Wha…what?"

"Good morning, Reid." The Unit Chief's voice lacked its usual resonance.

And when Spencer twisted around to look at Hotch with wide, innocent eyes, he had no idea why his leader appeared the way he sounded: dejected, defeated, inexplicably haunted.


	28. Breakfast Bonding

"Hey, Hotch…I've got some really cool stuff for you guys. Might help explain what you've been…"

Reid's chatter faded when confronted by the inexplicably mournful expression gracing his leader's haggard features. "Hotch? You okay?"

The pure innocence and concern in the young genius's wide, amber eyes entered the Unit Chief's heart like a key, unlocking the heavy door he guarded like… _like a dog. Like a dog who bares his fangs at anyone who gets too close._ Hotch deflated; shoulders slumping, chest caving.

"Hotch?" Reid abandoned his laptop and stood, alarmed at his boss's demeanor. Taking the older man's arm, he coaxed him into a chair. "What's wrong? You don't look so good."

"I'm fine…I'm…" Aaron's glance fell on Prentiss, and lingered. She gave a small, encouraging nod. He closed his eyes and tried to find a different kind of strength; a kind he hadn't used before. "I'm _not_ okay. I'm…not…I'm sorry…I'm not."

It felt like such a momentous admission that Hotch was surprised when there were no gasps of disbelief, no clap of thunder, no cosmic realignment. Instead, when he dared to look around at his colleagues there was only Reid's warm concern, and J.J.'s worried frown, and Garcia's bespectacled blinking…and what he was almost certain was Prentiss's look of pride. As though he'd done a good thing. As though admitting one's weakness didn't make him less of a leader.

Hotch was endlessly grateful when Emily's firm voice interjected, "He hasn't had any decent sleep for a couple of days. Give him a break."

Reid resumed his seat, head cocked to one side as he considered his boss. "Do you maybe wanna wait to hear what I think is going on with you guys? Maybe get some sleep first?"

Hotch squinted at his youngest agent. "Wha'd'you mean 'going on with' us?"

Reid took it as permission to pick up where he'd left off. Enthusiasm infused his voice. "Well, like I was saying, I _knew_ something happened with you guys when you went hiking." He gave Hotch a sidelong look. "And I _knew_ it was a lot harder on you than on Prentiss."

The Unit Chief stared, brow furrowed. "Why…what…"

"Hotch…" Emily drew her boss's focus. When she caught it, she executed a small, wry shrug. "Profilers…you know?" She felt amply rewarded by Aaron's faint grimace that might have been the beginning of an aborted smile.

Reid was oblivious to the undercurrents swirling about him. He continued, savoring the pleasure of sharing his knowledge. "Like I said, the initial concept is difficult to accept. Impossible, really, in the light of current evolutionary theory, and just…well…common sense." He flashed a semi-apologetic look at both Hotch and Prentiss. "But if you guys went back to Madame Sobrani again, that means you're both halfway up that path of believing that there's something…something avian in your genetic background, Emily. And, Hotch…" Reid took a deep breath and fixed his leader with a level stare. "…by the same token, there's something canine in yours."

Aaron could feel the eyes of his co-workers on him. All he could do was remind himself to breathe. He felt as though he'd been ripped open and his internal workings were being offered up for examination. He felt monstrous. What had that fortuneteller called him? A beast. He felt like a beast among them.

He also felt relieved.

XXXXXXXXXX

Morgan hesitated in the dining room doorway.

He hadn't known when the others were planning on eating. He'd slept himself out and thought maybe he'd wander around the city on his own, if they were still grounded. He was getting bored and antsy and wouldn't mind some alone-time right about now.

But his professional skills read the postures of his colleagues around the table, and a small, inexplicable alarm began to sound deep in his gut. Something was going on. Something not good. And by the avid expression on Baby Girl's face and Pretty Boy's intensity, Morgan had a hunch it was more of that weird, paranormal stuff he found ridiculous. _It's for the gullible and the naïve and the credulous. Which pretty much sums up a lot of Garcia's and Reid's personalities. And a lot of what I love about them…_

He decided the best way to approach the situation, was to bulldoze his way in and dowse them all with a bucket of normalcy. Then he could probably find a way to either defuse or derail the lunacy.

XXXXXXXXXXX

Reid was verging on becoming tongue-tied. He wanted to rope his audience in and get them as excited as he was when broaching new theories. To that end, his speech was speeding up, making him stumble and stutter with zeal.

"If you accept the basic premise, then…then y-you can actually tie in the biological evolution…"

"HEY, Bossman! We goin' home today?" Morgan's stentorian voice drowned out Reid's. His large, meaty hands descended on Hotch's shoulders, giving an affectionate, rough shake before he slid into the empty chair between his leader and J.J. "Gotta say, man, I'm ready to get back to the grind, ya know?" He picked up a menu. Leaning back, he scanned the offerings.

An awkward pause ensued. Everyone knew Morgan wasn't a fan of the supernatural in general, and Madame Sobrani in particular. As usual, J.J. bridged the silent gap before it could become a chasm.

"Spence was just filling us in on some stuff."

"Stuff?" Derek caught a waiter's eye, signaling his readiness to order. "So long as it's not anything to do with that former-life scam artist…"

"Morgan! Shut up!" Prentiss snapped. She regretted whenever she lost control, but she wasn't going to stand for anyone…even one of her closest friends…blindsiding a discussion that was important to both her and their Unit Chief. She confronted Derek's look of surprise. "If you'd even bothered to look at Hotch you'd see he's not doing so well…"

Morgan _hadn't_ really looked at their leader. He'd noticed a lot of tension in the shoulders he'd given a brief squeeze, but hadn't looked the man in the eye. He did so now, and the small, internal alarm that had surfaced earlier ramped up a few notches. Hotch's pallor made the violet shadows under his eyes look almost black. It was more than fatigue. It was the physical aggregate of worry, sorrow, and despair with touches of fear, shame and embarrassment. He realized Prentiss was still speaking…

"…and I've got a few things on my plate that need answers. If Reid has some or can even point us in a vaguely right direction to find some, then I wanna hear him out. If you can't stomach it, then sit somewhere else." Emily's dark eyes sparked, boring into Morgan, a beloved, but currently unwelcome adversary.

Derek backed off a mere fraction out of respect for Prentiss. On the other hand, he had absolutely _no_ respect for the arena in which Madame Sobrani played. "Oh, man…you guys really are taking that old lady's lies seriously?" He gave Hotch another concerned inspection. "Look, Bossman, if you need help with something, you know I'll go to the mat for you. We all will. But don't let some fraud mentalist get under your skin." Morgan glanced around the dining room, wishing Rossi would make an appearance. If anyone knew how to handle Hotch, it was their senior agent.

"Derek, you don't even know what's going on. Please don't assume there's an easy fix until you know the details, okay?" Prentiss's voice had lowered. She was trying reason instead of an angry attack.

The thing is, it made sense. Morgan sighed. "Okay. Fill me in. I'm on your side…remember? Just wanna be sure you're not…you know…" He shrugged, deciding listening was the best option right now.

Hotch was still clearly dealing with inner turmoil, so Emily nodded. "I'll tell you my side of it, but, Hotch might have some stuff to add." She sought her boss's focus, making sure he knew she wasn't pushing…just encouraging, just being supportive. It was enough for the moment when Aaron met her eyes and didn't cringe.

"Okay." Prentiss nodded. "I already told J.J. and Garcia most of it, but…here goes…"

XXXXXXXXXXX

It didn't take as long as she'd thought it would. And reactions were reassuringly predictable.

Penelope practically shimmered with excitement.

J.J.'s calm regard never wavered.

Reid looked ready to burst if he didn't get a chance to talk soon. Apparently everything Prentiss and a very halting, reluctant Hotch had said only served to solidify his belief in whatever theories had been fulminating in his exceptional brain.

And Morgan was skeptical, uncomfortable, but mostly very, very worried. He was hearing wild-eyed fairytales from two of the most level-headed, logical, reliable people he knew. He hated it. He was reaching his limit and felt he needed backup; needed someone who also had a negative take on all things paranormal.

Rossi had gone down that path on a case long ago. He'd listened to a psychic, thinking it wouldn't do any harm. It had. Rossi never forgot, and never forgave himself for being gullible. So when Garcia said it was her turn and wanted to take them through her cave paintings and genealogy of bird names, Morgan raised his hand.

"Guys, I'll listen to everything, like I said, but I'm feeling outnumbered. Rossi needs to hear this, too. Let's take five, order breakfast, 'cause the wait staff are lookin' at us funny…and I'll get Rossi down here."

There was a general consensus; heads nodded.

Except for Hotch. He buried his face in his hands and thought Dave would consider this a poor way to move forward based on the discussion they'd had. And a poor way to repay the thoughtfulness of tomato soup and grilled cheese.

But Morgan was right. This thing was taking on a momentum of its own…

…and no matter what, they were still a team.


	29. The Colors of the Sky

"Hey, Rossi, you up?"

"Huh? Uh…yeah, sure…" Rossi rubbed his eyes. He'd only had a few hours' sleep, but Morgan's underlying tone of anxiety dragged him back into the waking world. "Sure. What's up?"

"Team's in the dining room. We need a Hotch-wrangler down here."

"What's he doing?"

"Looks like death warmed over. Prentiss says he hasn't slept, and I'm gonna believe that's why he's spoutin' stuff about being a dog or something in his dreams, or a past life, or…whatever."

"Damn." Rossi yawned. "I thought he got that all talked out last night…Damn."

"You mean you knew about this?" Despite his surprise, Morgan kept his voice low out of deference to his location. Dining room noises played over the connection; the clash of cutlery, the clink of crystal.

"Yeah, I know about it. He's got some underlying issues that are surfacing thanks to Garcia's fortuneteller. He just needs some rest."

"No, man. I don't think so, 'cause that's not all. Prentiss is down here saying the same kind of stuff; egging him on. And the others are buying into it. You gotta get down here."

"Right…okay…right…on my way." Rossi hung up, took a moment to wonder why everyone was so ready to swallow such improbable fantasies, and then shrugged. _Aaron's their leader. They'll follow him down whatever primrose path he chooses. But only so far. Then common sense will reassert itself and that's when they'll start questioning him and themselves. Better rein him in before things get sticky._

He threw back the covers and headed for the bathroom.

 _Hmmmm… 'sticky'…I hope they have some nice, warm sticky buns on the menu. And coffee. Lots of coffee…_

XXXXXXXXXX

Two time zones away, Ambassador Prentiss sat at her Moroccan, mosaic-tiled kitchen table, sipping a latte and staring at the open-lidded box before her.

This was only the second time in her life that she'd seen the necklace of turquoise amulets. The first had been when she was seven years old.

Her mother had taken her to the bank. It had been all solemn dignity; a very grown-up adventure. Little Elizabeth was filled with nervous, happy excitement, because Mommy had said seven was a magical, curious age, and it was time Lizzie learned the deepest, most private secrets of their people.

Elizabeth hadn't made the connection, until years later, that she was seven when the dreams had started. Even now, she closed her eyes and remembered the swooping freedom of flight. It had been so real. Exultant, she had told her mother of how beautiful the world was when one soared above it.

The next week, they'd gone to the bank.

It had been marvelous fun until they were ushered into the private room where customers with safety deposit boxes could have some privacy. It was a cold, quiet place that made Lizzie feel boxed in. She'd crossed her arms to comfort herself and her mother had smiled.

And that was the moment the world changed.

"It's alright, Lizzie." The older woman's warm-toned voice was sympathetic. "Our kind have never done well in closed spaces. We prefer someplace open…as open as the sky."

The little girl frowned her puzzlement. " _Kind_? I don't get it. What _kind_ we are? What does that even mean?"

"I'll tell you…And, if you can't believe me, I'll show you, but I hope you trust your own mother. Do you, Lizzie? Do you trust me?"

"Yes! I love you, Mommy."

"Well, then…"

So the story unfolded. Legends of a people with the gift of flight who might have been worshipped by Incans and Aztecs and other cultures among whose gods were those with wings. The names flowed past and through her: Eros, Iris, Hermes, Garuda, Huitzilopochtil, Karura, Ekek, Lei Gong, and the Russian names that particularly cleaved to her soul: Alkonost, Gamayun and Sirin.

Her mother spoke of slender, dark-haired and dark-feathered beings who colonized with ease, thanks to their unique method of travel.

Lizzie sat in the thick-walled room and felt unreal. Mommy's words had the ring of truth and long tradition, but…but…

"This is legend that comes from times so ancient we have no proof," her mother said. "Yet it is your heritage. Do you believe me, Daughter of the Sky?" The name was strange. It was the first time she'd ever heard it, but Lizzie's blood thrilled to it. She _wanted_ to believe. She wanted to be special and different and gifted. Just like any seven year old child.

"I believe you, Mommy. I do."

Her mother's grateful smile still lingered in Elizabeth's mind a half-century later. As did the woman's next words and actions.

"Good. Then look upon the last vestige of our people… _your_ people. Look, but do _not_ touch."

She had lifted the lid of the box on the table in the silent, too-close room. Lizzie's breath had caught. The stones were the color of the purest sky, of a cloudless, enchanted realm. She longed to reach out and touch the glowing turquoise, but Mommy's warning stopped her.

"No! Elizabeth! NO! Don't touch."

The child had blinked. "Why not?"

Her mother had expelled a sigh fraught with patient concern. "I don't expect you to understand, but you _must_ trust me to have your safety, your best interests, at heart. Just don't touch them."

Lizzie had stared at the beautiful stones. She turned a piercing look on her mother. "Have _you_ touched them?"

"No."

"Then you don't know what'll happen if you do?"

"No."

The little girl's brows knit together. There were so many questions. "Well, how do you know you shouldn't touch them?"

"Trust. I believed what _my_ mother told me, too."

Lizzie pressed her lips together. This was a puzzling situation. Taking things on trust was not something with which she was familiar. So she pulled away from it for the moment and asked other questions. There were so, so many…

Ambassador Elizabeth Prentiss's gaze was fixed on a faraway place. Her mother had told her so much that day. Too much. At the age of seven she'd been unable to retain or comprehend all of it, but now…now it was all coming back...

And she heard her mother's voice, speaking of the legends and of how these winged people had lived in harmony with an earthbound species.

" _We hunted together. It was a beautiful partnership."_

Ambassador Prentiss had always wondered why the man her daughter worked for had stunned her at their first meeting. Why she'd liked him and wanted to work with him.

" _The wild ancestors of dogs. They meshed with us. The winged ones grew to love them."_

"Oh, God…" Elizabeth felt the weight of knowledge press her down. Aaron Hotchner. She'd know there was something about him.

 _The wild creature that runs with us…Oh, Emily, what are the odds that descendants of those ancient species could meet again? Oh, Emily…_

The ambassador stared at the glowing turquoise necklace. She knew that if the same conversation she had had with her own mother were to happen between her and Emily, there would be no doubt of the outcome. Emily would reach out and grab the stones. It would have nothing to do with trust.

 _And I can't let her take that risk._

Elizabeth was keenly aware that her daughter felt distanced. But now…at the moment of truth when faced with the unknown properties of this ancient artifact…the ambassador knew.

She would give her life to protect her child.

With only the slightest hesitation, and no regrets whatsoever, Elizabeth reached out and wrapped her fingers around the color of the sky.


	30. Ancient Legacy

Hotch needed a moment.

He was having second thoughts about all this opening-up and confiding-personal-matters. So while Morgan stepped away to call Rossi and the others finally ordered breakfast, he excused himself and made a trip to the men's room.

Safely out of sight, he leaned against a chilly, tiled wall and closed his eyes. _This shouldn't be so hard. I know these people and they know me. And it's not like I'm alone in this. Prentiss is in it, too, even if I think what she feels is worlds away from what I do…she's still part of it._

He took a deep breath, steadied himself, and returned to the dining room. Walking with his head down, he slipped into his seat. Almost immediately he felt hands bracket his shoulders. But this wasn't the rough, friendly battering Morgan had given him. These hands were gentler, more careful. He knew to whom they belonged.

"Aaron." Rossi looked down on the bowed head with its dark cowlicks and sighed. "I get the feeling you didn't do so well after I left you last night…or, more accurately, in the wee hours this morning."

"Sorry," Hotch whispered. "I can't let it go, Dave. I'm sorry."

The team watched as Rossi pressed his lips together, drumming his fingers on their leader's shoulders. "Hmmm. I see." He nodded, released Hotch and took the seat Morgan had purloined for him from a less-occupied table. "Well, I hope they have a nice, decadent take on sticky buns here…"

Some of the tension ran out of the Unit Chief's posture. Rossi wasn't going to question or cajole. He was going to study the lay of the land before taking action. He'd observe the team and assess things. You could always rely on the older agent's experience to gather information and think before leaping in. Hotch found it tremendously comforting at the moment, because he was keenly aware that his own mental and emotional faculties were misfiring on all fronts. Self-doubt was a painful sensation he tried never to display before his team. Lately it seemed to be his constant companion.

Rossi ordered and made sure Hotch did, too. While sipping coffee, the others brought him up to speed on Prentiss's adventures and Penelope's discoveries. Dave had to admit that when he saw the images of winged creatures bearing a distinct resemblance to their alpha female, he shivered. A ghostly, inner voice warned him that, if they pursued this, they could be headed somewhere primal, somewhere unexpected. He shook it off. In his private estimation, not much had changed. Hotch had submerged issues that were fighting to surface. He wouldn't be surprised if Prentiss had some, too. This was a psychiatric matter, not a supernatural one.

Reid watched the others dine and discuss and, finally, he couldn't wait any longer. He thought he'd been very patient, but his brain never rested, and the longer his theories fermented within the mechanism of his intellect, the more intricate and far-reaching they became. The pressure such unshared knowledge created just _had_ to be released.

He saw his opportunity when Prentiss brought up the sensory impressions of fur she'd had not once…but twice now when in physical contact with Hotch. And the Unit Chief himself was almost shame-faced when he admitted at her coaxing that he'd seen and felt her long-feathered wings twice as well.

"Guys, listen! It's like I've been trying to tell you, and it's what Garcia's research points to as well! Stories of winged beings are legendary, and most legends do have roots in fact, no matter how far-removed or improbable by today's standards."

Morgan's derisive chuckle bubbled up. "Kid, you're the self-proclaimed Man of Science. You don't believe in that stuff any more than I do."

The young genius had waited his turn; he wasn't going to be sidetracked before having his say. "I believe in the _genesis_ of legends; not necessarily the end product of that genesis. There's a difference."

He chose to ignore Derek's eye-roll. "The thing is, the more time passes, the further we get from the truth of the legend's inception. But we can look back and see, as Garcia's findings demonstrate, that many ancient civilizations believed in winged beings. Another belief was that animals had a special affinity with the gods. They were held in high esteem for it…like cats in Egypt…or…or cows in India. And even today when a dog or a cat stares at something we can't see, there's a superstitious thrill that runs up our spines, because maybe…just maybe…they perceive things hidden from human senses."

Rossi's quiet voice asked what they were all wondering. "What does this have to do with what Prentiss and Hotch experienced?"

Enthusiasm made Reid's eyes sparkle almost as brightly as Garcia's glitter-infused eyeglass frames. "If you accept the basic premise that Madame Sobrani put forward, that Hotch and Prentiss are closer to some kind of bestial past than most, then the things they've been experiencing are more understandable. It's like the cats and dogs that see things we can't…animalistic evolution is manipulating the sensory receptors in their brains." He leaned across the table, aiming his words at Emily and Hotch. "Different species have different chemical and electrical signals throughout their nervous systems. I bet if we analyzed brain chemistry, you guys would turn out to be more sensitive to stimuli than most of the human race."

The disbelieving regard of his teammates spurred Reid on to simplify his explanation, making it more accessible to the layman. "You know…like leftover vestiges of the evolutionary process…like wolves being able to scent things…or eagles being so keen-sighted it could seem supernatural to humans who don't possess such traits." The young doctor's voice faded as he realized he'd just labeled two of his colleagues as 'bestial' and 'animalistic.' He slumped back into his seat and mumbled in his own defense. "Chemical analysis of the brain could prove my theory…just sayin'…"

A long pause followed Reid's speech. All the agents were relieved when Rossi's calm words put forth an eminently practical suggestion; one he'd been hoping Aaron would have pursued on his own.

"Well, before we subject our teammates to having their brain fluids sampled, there's something less, uh…physically intrusive…that we could try." He turned a calculating gaze on Hotch. "I think undergoing hypnosis similar to what Reid did once upon a time…remember?...should be considered." Heads nodded. The young genius's eyes grew thoughtful as Rossi continued.

"I was there when the kid went through it. The best I can describe it is that it seemed to clear the way for that phenomenally active mind of his to be free to look back and remember things he'd forgotten that still were having a profound effect on his life." He lowered his chin, regarding Hotch through narrowed eyes. "Think that's something you could try?"

Aaron swallowed sudden bile in his throat. He wanted to say 'no.' He wanted to say there was nothing to remember; that it would be a waste of time. But everyone's eyes were on him, expectant.

Then out of nowhere a slim, cool hand crept its way into his, and it's owner whispered, "Don't worry, Hotch. You won't be alone. I'll do it, too." Prentiss held her leader's hand and felt sure this was the right thing to do.

Felt sure this was something touched with the same kind of fateful destiny as the fortuneteller had hinted.

Felt this was a strange, preordained partnership…not quite family, but more than loyalty.

Not quite love, but very, very close to it. It was something that could not be ignored.

"We'll do it together, Hotch." _And my wings will cover you…_


	31. Spirit Journey

Elizabeth Prentiss held the turquoise amulets and her breath.

She wasn't sure what she'd been expecting. After a moment when she realized her shoulders had tensed and her lungs were straining…yet there'd been no cataclysmic flash of an ancient curse taking effect…she exhaled and relaxed. A wry smile tilted one corner of her lips as she shook her head. _God, the buttons our parents install! Mom was probably just protecting antique jewelry from grubby, seven-year-old fingers. Sheesh…_

But then, she frowned. The stones should have been absorbing her body heat, growing warm. Instead, they were discernibly chilly. And growing colder by the minute. _What the…?_

The cold seeped into her hands, her wrists. Her arms grew heavy. _This should be alarming, but…I should let them go, but…_

Three thousand miles away, the Ambassador's daughter took her Unit Chief's hand and felt a fierce, protective rightness about doing so.

Elizabeth's eyes drifted shut.

She slumped over the table and felt…exhilarated.

XXXXXXXXXX

Rossi grasped at what he considered a momentary advantage.

He didn't want to give Hotch the chance to invent objections or change his mind and refuse outright to take what the older man considered the only logical step in unraveling these dreams and mirages. _It's all smoke and mirrors, Aaron. Just let us help you clear the air, and wipe the glass clean so you can see yourself better and dismiss all this…this…_ _ **nonsense**_ _!_

"Reid, can you get in touch with that Vegas hypnotist? Maybe ask her to recommend a colleague in this neck of the woods?"

"Oh! Oh!" Garcia bounced, setting her pendant earrings to jingling. "I can find _all_ the locals who do that kind of stuff!"

Morgan's cautious voice intruded. "But… _real_ ones, Baby Girl, right? Not another past-life-whatsit like that old woman…someone accepted by the legal and medical communities, right?"

The tech analyst drew herself up in a demonstration of righteous indignation; snub nose nostrils flaring. "Judging by what Hotch and Emily are going through, I think the evidence points toward Madame Sobrani's being a very gifted, very genuine practitioner of her art!"

"Yeah? Or maybe she just recognizes a mark who's vulnerable! Maybe one who's got PTSD or is burned out!" Morgan turned a pleading look on Rossi.

Dave saw Aaron's increasing discomfort at being publicly analyzed and termed 'burned out.' "We're not here to debate the credentials of your Madame Sobrani, Garcia. Why don't you and Reid work together to find us someone who Hotch and Prentiss will be comfortable with." He heaved a sigh and gazed into his coffee cup. "And J.J.? Keep checking on when we might be able to get out of here? If ever?"

The liaison gave him a sadly sympathetic smile. "Just did. Stagnant air's not budging. Seems the region is going to set a record for grounded air travel. Sorry."

Garcia's earrings chimed again in time to her shiver of excitement. "Oooooh…it's like the universe is telling us we have to stay and see this through!"

Morgan emitted a low groan before bending his neck and knocking his forehead against the tabletop in soft, repetitious despair.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

Elizabeth felt perfectly at home soaring through the icy, crystal air. She knew her name wasn't Elizabeth anymore. She knew somewhere and some-when had transformed. She was in her kitchen, but…not. She wasn't herself, but…she was still kin to herself. The same blood flowed through her veins, only in richer, stranger, purer form.

The illogic of it all began to upset her.

Elsewhere and else-when, the Ambassador's muscles tensed. Fear began to spread through her like an inky stain. The odd dichotomy of her existence(s) was tearing at her. It felt like a whirlpool sucking her entire being down into some unstable, volatile place where collisions could end…end…

… _where_ _ **everything**_ _ends! I have to stop this! I have to be one or the other! Can't be both places, both beings!_

Then she saw two creatures; from a great distance, from a high altitude.

Still, as far away as they were, she knew what they were doing. They were hiding. They were in danger.

Like a tide, forces warred within her. _I have to get out of here! I have to go_ _ **back**_ _!_

But it was so hard to tear herself away from the pair crouched in hiding. The winged one could escape if she chose, but her companion lacked the gift of flight. Even from this height, Elizabeth knew he was heavily muscled. His gifts were strength and four-legged speed.

She saw the armed stalker-hunters closing in on them from all directions. They were surrounded.

 _The woman can fly, but she won't. We never abandoned our partners…She's the prize, the one they want to capture and keep, but the other…they'll use him for sport…kill him…_

Elizabeth didn't know how this knowledge came to her, but it was cell-deep. She _knew_ what awaited the winged-and-furred duo. She felt the welling of grief and rage on their behalf; felt it ignite and add its power to the divisive forces already warring within her.

She couldn't stay any longer; couldn't bridge the millennia between her time and this. With a shriek of fury, she felt her wings lock. She plummeted, dashing toward the ground. Her last impression was of those who were earthbound, the hunters and the hunted, turning their faces to the sky and toward her banshee scream of doom.

There was a snapping noise. And pain.

Falling from her seat at the kitchen table, she curled beneath its shelter and sobbed for the loss of the two creatures whose bones had long ago turned to dust.

They had been noble souls. They had personified loyalty, affection, trust and self-sacrifice. They had been examples that mankind would have done well to follow. But mankind had chosen to destroy them rather than emulate them.

Images of her daughter and the leader of the BAU superimposed themselves over the fading apparitions of the creatures she'd seen.

Even as Elizabeth sobbed, her maternal instinct asserted itself.

 _Emily, there are things you need to know..._

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Prentiss? Are you sure you're okay with this?"

Hotch looked at his teammate with concern. Her hand had been comforting in his, but he'd felt her sudden tremor. She'd jerked away from his grip, and he'd seen her complexion pale. Now she turned dazed eyes on him.

"Huh?"

He studied her, as did everyone else at the table. Hotch had done very little talking compared to the others, but he overcame his reticence in the face of his partner's need. "You don't have to do this hypnotism thing if you don't want to. I'm the one having a hard time. You seem to be better adjusted and…"

"No. No, Hotch." Some of her color was returning. "I just felt weird for a minute. I…I don't know why." Prentiss recovered. Her eyes bored into his, dark with intensity. "We're doing this together. There's something right about it. I can't explain…" Her chin lifted with determination. "…I'll stand by you, no matter what."

She startled, but recovered in seconds, her smile sheepish. "Sorry, guys. That was just my phone. It's on vibrate." She pulled the device from her pocket and frowned.

 _Mother never calls me. What could she possibly have to say?_


	32. Walking Through Eternity

It didn't seem right to let a personal call intrude on the team's time together; not while they were strategizing about helping Hotch.

So Prentiss sent her mother's call to voicemail and slipped the phone back in her pocket. Even if everyone seemed ready to disperse to their individual thoughts and errands, Emily wasn't sure she felt like another round with her mother's facile diplomacy.

Garcia huddled over her laptop, while Reid accessed his phenomenal memory, dredging up the contact information for the hypnotist who'd helped him in Las Vegas. The woman's credentials were spotless. She was regularly involved in legal proceedings and medical assessments. Anyone she could point them toward in the Pacific Northwest would likely be similarly laudable.

Morgan hovered, keeping a weather eye on the duo. He found the entire discipline suspect, but when J.J. gave him a gentle reminder that it was only another level of the cognitive interviews the BAU had used for quite some time with exemplary results, he backed down…a little. He still wasn't sure his Baby Girl wouldn't skew off on a paranormal tangent, and that Pretty Boy wouldn't follow along out of sheer curiosity. It was the surest lure that could derail their resident genius.

Hotch and Prentiss, no longer holding hands, wandered out of the dining room and toward the dank, gray weather outside.

Rossi watched them as they trailed toward the hotel exit, Aaron leading. There was something predatory about each of them. Together, taken out of the context of the rest of the team, there was something else he couldn't quite put his finger on. _As though they belong side by side, but not in a romantic sense._ He shook his head, dispelling fantasy images of ancient hunting companions. After all, he'd just been looking at those disturbingly familiar images of cave paintings that Garcia had unearthed.

Still, wanting to observe more, Dave followed Hotch and Prentiss at a discreet distance.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

The Ambassador sat on the floor, back pressed against a leg of the kitchen table, and stared at her phone with its irritating lack of ability to connect to her daughter.

 _Voicemail? What am I supposed to say that won't sound crazy?_ In slow increments her breathing evened. She was recovering from the experience of touching turquoise amulets. As minutes passed, her mind regained its logical precision.

 _Doesn't matter if it's voicemail. Whatever I say will sound ridiculous. And what am I afraid of? Whatever I saw…_ She shuddered, hugging her arms around herself for comfort. _…it was eons ago. So why do I feel this…this_ _ **urgency**_ _to make Emily aware of it?_

Elizabeth took a deep breath and released it in a long, slow, controlled exhalation; an exercise she used to clear her mind when entering a particularly fractious debate among foreign luminaries. She _knew_ why she was so frightened on her child's behalf. She'd always felt unsettled since Emily had joined the BAU. She just hadn't been able to put her finger on the reason.

Until now.

 _It's Aaron Hotchner. I liked him from the first. Now I know why. He's descended in some way from_ _ **them**_ _…One of the faithful with whom we bonded…creatures who would sacrifice themselves for our protection…And in return, for whom we would die…_

She leaned her head back, relaxing body as well as mind. Something had happened during… _what?...a psychotic episode?...a journey back in time?...what?_...She could feel its touch still; as though a way had been opened for communication. Yet she knew, also, that it was oddly temporary. But now…right now…the knowledge hit her, shattering her calm. _We never let them die alone. Once we'd bonded with one of them, we willingly tied our fates together. We traveled side by side into the afterlife, believing our spirits would range through eternity. We never let them enter that darkness alone…_

Elizabeth levered herself off the floor and into a chair. She stared at her phone again, her mind wandering to the other side of the country where her daughter might already be discovering things best left in the long-ago past.

 _The blood will run truer in both of them now that they've found each other. That's why I'm scared. That's what terrifies me. It wouldn't be so bad if they weren't in a profession that courts danger on a daily basis._

The Ambassador bowed her head into her hands.

 _They won't even know what's driving them. But if Death threatens one, the other will accept it, too. They'll follow each other…companions eternal…_

 _I have to make Emily aware of the bond…maybe she'll be able to resist it. I have to tell her._

She bent over her phone again. Even a crazy, delusional-sounding voicemail was better than nothing.

XXXXXXXXXX

Hotch wasn't really headed anywhere in particular.

He just wanted to escape the discomfort of the dining room where his teammates had learned things about his dreams he'd have preferred kept private. Revealing the experiences when he'd recalled dying pups and had felt the strange cloaking effect of wings descending upon him hadn't helped. Now they all knew his disturbed subconscious was forcing its way up and producing _bona fide_ hallucinations.

Still, Prentiss's declarations about her similar experiences that seemed to parallel his had helped make it easier. She'd stood by him, her piercing gaze boring into Morgan when he'd rolled his eyes at the whole idea of this being anything other than a mental aberration.

Emily's hand in his had felt good, too. If he hadn't been so sleep-deprived, he would have stopped his thoughts from going down that path, but he _was_ exhausted, and he didn't understand why Prentiss's touch was more comforting than, say…Dave's.

And he _needed_ comfort, especially now.

And he knew she was a step behind him, as though he were tracking a path, keeping her safe from misstep.

And he knew that was where she belonged.

And he reached back without looking and met her hand already on its way to his.

He took it.

XXXXXXXXXX

Rossi watched Hotch and Prentiss join hands and frowned.

It wasn't a romantic gesture. He was certain of it. What troubled him was how it happened, especially after hearing the full disclosure of their strange experiences that seemed to run in tandem.

And now they'd been headed toward the street. Both had been walking with heads raised, eyes fixed forward. Neither had glanced down to see where the other's hand might be.

The two had joined with the sort of seamless accord that accompanied long, long acquaintance. The kind that required an almost occult sense of the other's whereabouts. There'd been no fumbling, no fingers seeking. It was a little eerie.

Rossi stood inside the lobby and watched them. They didn't go far. It looked as though Hotch just needed some fresh air.

The Unit Chief lifted his nose to the sky and closed his eyes. _Probably breathing in the sea air. Even without a breeze, you can smell it here._

Prentiss leaned in and said something. Hotch nodded and heaved a deep sigh. The pair turned back toward the hotel.

Not wanting to be accused of spying, Rossi backed away from the windows. He felt protective of Aaron and would have liked to tell him to get some sleep, but he trusted Emily to look after him, too.

 _Funny,_ he thought as he walked back toward the dining room. _I usually think of Morgan as the one who has protecting Hotch high on his personal agenda. I guess the tides are turning…_

XXXXXXXXXXXX

Hotch lifted his nose to the damp, foggy sky and breathed the refreshingly cool moisture.

Prentiss gave him a moment, then leaned close. "You should get some sleep, Hotch. I kinda wrecked that for you earlier. Sorry." The Unit Chief breathed deeper. "And if they find someone who'll do this hypnosis thing today, you don't wanna go into it half brain-dead…you know?"

Hotch nodded, filling his lungs one more time. There were so many scents in the air. He usually didn't notice things like that. He wondered if exhaustion sharpened his olfactory abilities. Prentiss pulled on his hand and they headed back toward the hotel entrance.

She was right. He needed rest.

He felt her reaction when her phone vibrated. She released his hand in order to answer it. He could hear irritation in her voice after she'd checked the ID, muttering, "Great. She shuts me down and then keeps calling. Go figure." He could still hear the edge when she answered.

"Hi. Did you change your mind about talking, or did you just remember some other ways I disappoint…" Emily fell abruptly silent, eyes finding Hotch's and locking onto him. "Yeah, he's here with me…Why?"

Prentiss lowered her cell, pressing it against her chest to mute her words from the caller.

"Hotch, it's my mother. She says she wants to talk to _both_ of us. Sounds kind of…I dunno…panicked? Says we _have_ to listen."

Aaron looked down at the phone in Emily's hand. His heart was speeding up. His respiration, too. He had no idea why.

And he really missed the comfort of holding his teammate's hand.


	33. Collision Course

When Emily answered her phone, the Ambassador almost cried out with relief.

But when her daughter verified that Hotch was at her side, Elizabeth's breath caught. Her gut instinct was to scream 'Get away from him! For both your sakes! Distance yourself!' But her line of work frequently required her to quell her emotional reactions in favor of engaging in calm, logical debate. One stood a much better chance of gaining control over a situation if one's voice was level, and one's demons were hidden.

Elizabeth used another professional tactic: she approached her subject obliquely.

"Oh, that's…that's good. I have something to say that concerns the both of you."

The Ambassador's stomach twisted. She'd failed to keep the panic from her voice and her suspicious offspring was trained to hear such things. But it was understandable, wasn't it? This was her child. Her _only_ child; the exasperating, brilliant, disobedient, rebellious, wonderful woman that was her daughter. She could tell Emily was muffling the call, saying something to her boss. When the younger Prentiss returned, it was with a voice full of caution.

"What's wrong, Mom? I can tell something is. And Hotch and I are kind of busy right now, so…"

"Really?! Busy doing what? Emily, are you working? Are you engaged in…in anything…" She struggled again to rein in her anxiety. "Emily. Dear. Are you doing anything dangerous?"

"Mom, we're standing on a Seattle street in the middle of downtown in broad daylight. We're not on a case, but we _are_ busy. What's going on? Is it something political? Something that affects the BAU? The FBI?"

 _Ohhhh,_ _ **thank**_ _you, Emily, for giving me an angle!_ Elizabeth mastered her voice at last, adopting a tone of urgency without the breathless panic she still felt. "It's important. Something I just learned. It _does_ affect both you and Agent Hotchner. It would be best if you both went somewhere private where we could talk. _Now_ , please."

Emily's jaw tightened. _Wow. Earlier she sidestepped everything and now_ _ **I'm**_ _supposed to_ _ **drop**_ _everything because whatever it is, it's important to_ _ **her**_ _!_ But this was her mother; one of the few people who could make her mind, because Elizabeth had installed the obedience buttons in her little girl early on. Prentiss gave her leader an apologetic look. "You need sleep, Hotch, and she wants to talk to us someplace private, so…your place or mine?"

The Unit Chief gave his colleague a bleary look. He was fading fast despite the fine edge of anxiety that he couldn't explain at the prospect of a conference with the two Prentiss women. Going back to his own room was appealing; he could fall into bed afterwards. "My room. You'll call her back when we get there?"

"No!" barked a response from Emily's cell. The Ambassador didn't want the connection cut. Prentiss put the phone where both she and Hotch could hear.

"It'll just be a minute, Mom. I'll call you right back. We're right outside the hotel."

"No, Emily! Keep me on. Just…hurry."

With a one-shouldered shrug, Prentiss gave her boss a look that said 'Mothers…whatcha gonna do…'

They headed back into the hotel. Neither was aware that their hands met and clasped as they did.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

Dr. Saul Barton was puzzled by the call he received from the FBI agent who said he was a doctor, too.

"This has nothing to do with law enforcement?"

"No, sir. Well, indirectly, it does, but…. It's…uh…it's a profiling research project for the BAU. That's the Behavioral Analysis…"

"I know what it is, Dr. Reid. I guess I don't understand the urgency of the request, if this is merely research."

Reid felt Garcia at his elbow, pantomiming with frantic gestures and mouthing words at him. He wasn't sure what she meant, but he knew it was necessary to protect Hotch and Prentiss's privacy, but not at the expense of learning anything useful. When Penelope began fluttering her hands like butterflies around her head, the young genius thought he understood.

"Uh, Dr. Barton, the subject we want you to work with has been having disturbing dreams lately. We thought it would be best for you to see him as soon as possible because whatever's triggered them might not be so accessible to a therapist if we wait too long." He saw Garcia's enthusiastic nod and embellished on the theme. "Actually, what we're interested in is the way leadership pressures affect mental and emotional outlook…subconsciously."

"Ah!" Barton sounded pleased that he finally grasped the situation. "So this a stress study. I understand." There was a pause as he scanned his schedule. "I have an opening this afternoon, just a couple of hours from now. Will that work?"

"Sure! Yeah! Thanks!" Reid went on to obtain the details of where and when Hotch's hypnotism session would take place. His mind was leaping ahead to the logistics of delivering the Unit Chief and coming up with an explanation of why it would be good for Prentiss to participate…and then began weighing whether or not Emily should be handled separately. He was unaware that Garcia was nearly frothing with a desperate desire to interrupt.

When Reid ended the call with all the pertinent information stored in his eidetic memory, the tech analyst stomped her glitter-shoed foot for attention. "What?" He gave her a puzzled glance.

"Reid! Hotch just told us he hasn't slept for…what?...a couple nights now? And you want him to see this shrink while he's that ragged?! Isn't that kind of unfair?"

The young genius gazed into the middle distance for a moment, considering. At last he turned his innocent, amber eyes on his co-worker. "No. All his defenses will be weak. He'll be more open and vulnerable than if he's rested and at the top of his game. In the end, it'll help him to open up more….I think…"

Garcia threw her hands up in a gesture of exasperation. Clearly, she didn't agree.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

From a short distance away, Morgan and J.J. had been monitoring the whole process of finding a qualified professional to work on Hotch.

Derek had approved of Saul Barton's credentials when Reid had checked him out after getting the lead from the hypnotist in Las Vegas. He'd been relieved that the man sounded the very opposite of Madame Sobrani and her ilk. But now, hearing Garcia's concerns, he and J.J. exchanged worried looks.

"Morgan, are you thinking what I am?" The liaison's eyes were anxious.

"You mean…that time in the hospital? After…you know…the stabbing?"

J.J. nodded. "Uh-huh."

Reid and Garcia hadn't been present, but it was a disturbing moment that had lodged in the others' memories as a reminder that their tough, formidable leader had his limits. They'd been waiting to descend on Hotch the moment he regained consciousness. But as he began to swim his way up from the anesthetic haze of surgery, the attending physician had stopped them in the hallway.

' _Remember…he's weak. DON'T PUSH HIM.'_

The words, occurring to both agents simultaneously, gave them a foreboding sensation about what was to come that was more appropriate to Madame Sobrani's parlor than either wanted to admit.

XXXXXXXXXXX

Hotch was too tired to stand on ceremony.

He made a beeline for his bed and flopped down on it. Lying full length, he covered his eyes with one forearm before mumbling, "Okay, Prentiss. No one can hear us."

Emily took a seat on the mattress edge beside her boss, holding the phone…still connected to her mother…where they could both hear and be heard. "Mom, we're in a room. It's private. So, what's going on?"

The Ambassador had used the intervening time while the agents came in from the street to gather her wits. Her voice was still a little shaky, but she was composed enough to communicate more effectively. "Emily, when you asked me about those names…those family names…earlier, I thought I was doing the right thing when I cut you off." Her swallow was audible. "I'm sorry, Dear. I was wrong. There _is_ a long history tied to those names. And I'm afraid that history includes you, Agent Hotchner; though I'm not certain of the strength of your connection."

The Unit Chief lowered his arm and turned his head, fixing the cell with a look of utter bafflement.

"Mom, we've both been having weird dreams," Prentiss blurted. "Mine involve wings and…and feathers…and Hotch's, well, I'll let him tell you his side, if he wants to, but all I can say is some things have happened…hallucinations maybe?...that make me want to protect him from…from…" Her voice finally cracked. "…I don't know what from…but…"

"Oh, Emily…" Elizabeth interrupted. "Oh, God, Emily…I had no idea…" She couldn't keep the sob from her voice. "…I had no idea at all…but then I touched the necklace and…and…I saw! I saw! And I just _knew_!..."

"Necklace?" Prentiss's inner eye brought up the cave painting Garcia had displayed in such vibrant restoration. The dark hair and feathers. The crimson gown. The turquoise amulets. "Mom, what necklace? What are you talking about?"

"A legacy. A curse. I don't know which. Maybe both." The Ambassador's words quivered with dread. "A turquoise necklace passed down in our family…from our _kind_ …"

Hotch and Prentiss stared at each other, disbelief evident in both their expressions.

It was almost a relief when the Unit Chief's phone chimed; as though blessedly mundane reality was reminding them such things as mutant species sporting wings and fur couldn't possibly ever have existed.

It was a relief, that is, until Hotch thumbed the connection open and Reid's eager, chirping voice said they had an appointment with a hypnotist in two hours, but it was over in an Eastside suburb, and with traffic and the fog…

…they should probably leave now.

Hotch's bafflement morphed into horror.


	34. Choices

Hotch felt his hands start to shake.

"Now, Reid? We have to leave _right_ now?"

"Well, yeah. Seattle's traffic's pretty bad and parking can be a problem and…"

"Okay, okay. We're on our way down." He closed the connection, trying to sound stronger than he felt. "Prentiss, we need to go."

"Mom? You hear that? Can I call you back…"

"No! Emily! Agent Hotchner! Listen to me!" It was a near shriek of desperation.

"Mom, we have to get moving. If you can't give us the Cliff Notes version, and you can't talk to us while we're around the rest of the team, it's just gonna have to…"

The Ambassador's voice sliced across the connection, cleaving through any objections Emily might raise. "You feel like protecting Agent Hotchner, because from time immemorial we have _always_ tied our fates to theirs! I didn't believe it myself, Emily, but then I touched the necklace and…and I was _transported_ is the only word I can think for it. I was _transported_ to a time and place where I saw what looked like you and…and maybe Agent Hotchner…"

Elizabeth began to run out of steam, her own words striking her as incredible. Maybe even insane. "…I _know_ how this sounds. I wouldn't believe it myself, if I were you, but, Emily, you have to trust me! Yes, there are odd names in our family that refer to birds. Yes, there are strange stories handed down that I've never shared with you. Yes, I'm a bad mother for keeping this to myself and hoping it would all die with me. Yes, I had no right to deny you your heritage. Yes, I shouldn't have made that decision without your knowledge. And, yes, I love you, Emily. _Please_! Please don't put yourself in any…any _dangerous_ situation until we can talk face to face. Especially if Agent Hotchner is with you. _Please_!"

Prentiss didn't know what to make of this. It was so unlike her cool, implacable parent. She glanced at Hotch, expecting to see his expression mirroring her own. She froze. There was a darkness in the Unit Chief's eyes. Their depths held bruises or shadows. It shouted that her mother's speech had touched something in him.

It was time to do some damage control, and she couldn't rely on her boss to help.

"Mom, what can't you tell me now, that you _can_ tell me in person?"

"Not tell, Emily. Show. I was wrong to keep secrets, but I thought it wouldn't matter. I didn't know you'd find one of…one of _them_ …I didn't know you'd find Agent Hotchner." She took a deep, steadying breath. "I'll give you something my mother didn't: the choice. The choice of knowing something inexplicably strange. The choice of touching the necklace. But until then, please… _please_ stay out of danger, if you can. If you can't, then try to face it without Hotchner at your side."

"That's ridiculous. We're partners. We keep each other safe."

"Emily, you said you felt the need to protect him. You wouldn't have brought that up unless there was something different about it; something that didn't fall under your regular duties to each other in the field. You _felt_ it, Emily. If you can't trust me, then trust your own instincts. Be careful around him. Please. And," she added with a note of longing, "…come home soon."

Prentiss was still keeping eye contact with Hotch. The haggard, strained look on his face forced her to be less flippant than she might have. "Okay, Mom. We're not on a case. We're just grounded because of fog. But as soon as I get home, I'll come see you. Okay?"

"Okay. Thank you, dear." It was the best Elizabeth could hope for.

But deep inside she wished Emily would take a train home and leave the BAU Unit Chief behind. Just in case.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

Both Prentiss and Hotch were unusually quiet on the drive to the Eastside.

No one mentioned it, though. Their leader was sleep-deprived and plagued by bad dreams, and both he and Emily had things to work out which would understandably occupy their thoughts.

Rossi had high hopes that hypnotherapy would, if not solve everything, then at least point the two agents toward the true root of their troubles: unresolved childhood issues. After all, that's what had been at the bottom of Reid's strange dreams of a dead boy and his father. _It's a viable form of exploratory treatment, and the kid found us a reputable practitioner. Everything'll be fine_ , Dave told himself. Still, he wished he could fast-forward the day to its end. Then he could stop worrying.

Garcia tried not to stare. She huddled against Morgan, but found she couldn't enjoy the experience. There was something wrong. _Like…like an aura or something hanging over them._ Her glance kept returning to Hotch and Prentiss no matter how suggestive and playful Derek's murmured words were in her ear.

For his part, Morgan found it frustrating that he couldn't distract his Baby Girl. He hated it when anything disrupted her usual cheerful, glittering disposition.

Reid concentrated on following directions to Dr. Barton's office. J.J. occupied the passenger seat of the SUV, ready to step in as co-pilot. She held a map and kept glancing at it, verifying the toneless instructions issuing from the GPS. There'd been a story on the local Seattle news the previous evening that had said a woman had wound up in two feet of chilly water when she'd driven with great confidence in satellite-relayed commands straight into Lake Washington.

The team breathed a collective sigh of relief when they emerged from the fog and Reid pulled into the parking garage of Overlake Medical Center. Except for Prentiss and Hotch. Emily could almost feel her leader's chest constrict with apprehension. She couldn't help but follow suit, taking small sips of air as her own muscles tensed.

"We're here." Reid made the unnecessary announcement.

"Okay," Rossi muttered. "Let's do this."

XXXXXXXXXXX

"It's a little unusual." Dr. Saul Barton scanned the people crowding his office. "Some very personal issues could surface that Mr. Hotchner might not want to share. I'd rather record the session, and let the patient decide if he wants anyone else to hear it afterwards."

Reid's tenor voice rose. He'd already been through hypnosis and thought his presence would be comforting rather than concerning. And, too, he'd already planted the idea that this was being done to benefit psychological research for the BAU. It would end up being general knowledge anyway. "We've already discussed the dreams he's been having. And, as profilers, there's not much we don't know about each other."

Barton took a long, careful look at his proposed subject. The man was clearly the worse for wear. Darkness under his eyes and a semi-glazed look in them told him this was not a patient at the top of his game. There might be more than mere job stress going on here. And the female agent…the dark-haired one…seemed to be a little distracted, too. He wouldn't have noticed, but the two were staying very close to each other compared to the rest of the team.

"It's not only a matter of privacy, Dr. Reid. I'll need to relax Mr. Hotchner for this to work. Having an audience is likely to have the opposite effect. I think…"

"It should be up to me." Hotch's velvet-thunder voice quieted the debate. He'd been so reserved, standing close to Prentiss, surreptitiously keeping contact…his shoulder pressed against hers. Breaking his silence caught everyone's attention.

"Well, of course the choice is yours, Mr. Hotchner." Barton expected this frazzled leader of a group of crime fighters to agree that going solo would be the best way to proceed. "Your colleagues can wait out here while we…"

"No." A measure of glassiness left Hotch's gaze. He glanced around the room, assessing each teammate. "I'd like it if you came in with me, Dave."

Rossi nodded, giving his friend a warm, encouraging smile. "I'd be honored, Aaron."

"And you, Prentiss."

There was only a slight frisson of reaction through the group, but Dr. Barton noticed. _Ahhhh_ , he thought. _I see. These two are connected. So, my guess is this is a leader who's not only dealing with job stress, but is fighting sexual attraction to a subordinate. Man must have very high standards for himself to be so conflicted. But…this isn't anything I haven't seen before._

The doctor ushered Rossi, Hotch and Prentiss toward a door leading to a quiet room with a comfortable couch, convinced that this would be a valuable session for the patient, but ultimately unremarkable.

He couldn't have been more wrong.


	35. Session

Ambassador Prentiss let her phone slide from nerveless fingers.

Now that she'd done what she could to warn her daughter, though it felt like not nearly enough, Elizabeth let her own welfare take center stage. The turquoise amulets had tumbled to the floor with her when she'd first grasped them. They lay glistening on the terracotta tiles.

Part of her wanted to have them analyzed. She wondered what x-rays, carbon dating and chemical testing might reveal about their composition.

Part of her wanted to put them back in their box and lock them away forever. They were dangerous. That awful ripping, tearing sensation when she'd simultaneously been in two places and times as two different beings…she shuddered at the thought of what might have happened if it had gone on for even a few more heartbeats.

But the most disturbing part of her wanted to touch them again; pick them up and clasp them to her breast. The experience of winged flight had been indescribably wonderful.

Her fingers were still chilly. She shook them out, but the sensation wouldn't abate. Neither would the longing to fly again. _Just once more…just once…_ The words ghosted through her mind, whispering temptation.

As the Ambassador stared, mesmerized by the sky-blue stones, one of the bedtime stories her own mother used to tell came back to haunt her… _Any mortal unlucky enough to be shown a glimpse of Faerie, will forevermore yearn to return…_

Elizabeth cradled her cold hand against her chest, wondering if the desire for something she should never have experienced in the first place would hollow out her heart, turning her busy, useful life into aching, empty dissatisfaction.

She hoped not.

Only time would tell.

But the chill in her fingers lingered.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Alright now, Mr. Hotchner." Dr. Barton gestured toward the oversized couch that could accommodate the Unit Chief's length with ease. "Make yourself comfortable and we'll get started."

Hotch stood, expression tight, staring at the piece of furniture as though he'd forgotten the use for such a thing. Rossi placed a hand on his back, giving him a gentle nudge forward. "It's okay, Aaron. I went through this with Reid. You need to relax and cooperate for this to work. And you won't be alone. I'll be here the whole time."

"Me, too."

Hotch looked up at Prentiss's murmured words. He gave both colleagues a small nod, took a deep breath to try and break the constricted, anxious feeling in his chest, and sat on the couch. After a moment, he twisted, brought his legs around and stretched out on his back. Rossi hid a smile as the man made small, grumbling noises, fidgeting, adjusting, trying to find a suitable position.

All Prentiss could think was that her boss reminded her of a large dog turning circles in its bed, seeking ease by means that made no sense to observers, and, if it continued much longer, would verge on comical.

"It might help to take your shoes off, son." The doctor rolled a padded swivel chair close to his patient, aligning it with Hotch's shoulders.

The sound of Aaron's shoes hitting the floor was followed by a few more grunts and grumbles, but at last he settled down. Barton didn't bother to hide his indulgent grin. "I know this isn't something you're looking forward to, Mr. Hotchner. It can seem like a terrible invasion of privacy…" He glanced toward the other two agents. "…which is why, if you change your mind about having your friends here…"

"They stay." Hotch's tone said that the issue of his chosen audience was not to be questioned again.

Barton gave a semi-shrug. _Well, I tried, my friend. So when I put you under and you start waxing poetic about how much you want your raven-haired teammate, and what you'd like to do with her, and how hard it is to keep your mind on your job…well…I tried to spare you that embarrassment._ "Alright then." He edged his chair a bit closer. "You're very tense, Mr. Hotchner. So, before we start, let's talk." Hotch's dark, haunted eyes looked up from where he lay.

The doctor frowned, for the first time taking a more than cursory look at his patient. _Haggard. Tired. Well, that makes sense…_ "Your colleague, Dr. Reid, mentioned something about dreams. Would you like to tell me what's been going on?" He adopted an encouraging smile. "It's okay if you can't remember. Dreams are notoriously quick to fade, so…"

"It's a recurring dream."

Barton leaned closer, professionalism clicking into place like a railroad track switch. "Recurring since when? Can you recall the first time you had it?"

Hotch paused, casting his mind's eye backward and finding he didn't want to get too close to his childhood years; not even when he was decades and miles distant. "Not exactly. When I was a kid. I couldn't remember much, but…but it's gotten a lot clearer lately."

"Really?" The doctor's brows rose. "That's interesting." His private thoughts he kept to himself: _So you had these dreams probably when your hormones were raging in adolescence. And now they're much clearer because your lust has a target, a definite focus in your teammate. You're just a lonely, stressed leader who needs someone to love, Mr. Hotchner._ "If they've become clearer, can you share some of the details?"

Aaron swallowed a growing lump. "There…there are chains and…and…my children…" His breathing became harsher. Emotional stress was taking a visible toll.

"Mr. Hotchner, if you'd rather we move past this, I'd understand."

A long, shuddering exhale preceded the Unit Chief's decision. "Maybe we should just get on with it. Can we?"

"Hmmm." The doctor's look was calculating. _Even tenser than when he walked in, but the signs of exhaustion are obvious. Might end up falling asleep…still, we should be able to get some quality info before that happens._ "Of course we can." He noticed Hotch's eyes dart toward the other agents and decided to minimize the distraction their presence created. "It would be best if you two decided where you want to stand or sit and didn't move or interrupt once we begin."

Rossi pulled a chair around to the end of the couch where Hotch's head lay. He had a strong memory of how Reid had emerged from his trance. He'd come out of it violently. If it hadn't been for the older man holding his shoulders down, he might have hurt himself or his therapist. Rossi moved within reach of Aaron. Just in case.

Prentiss stayed where she could see and be seen, leaning her back against a wall that let her maintain direct eye contact with Hotch.

Barton glanced around. "Everyone ready?"

"Yeah." "Uh-huh." Rossi and Prentiss responded. Hotch nodded and licked dry lips.

"Good." The doctor's voice lowered, becoming almost melodious. "Close your eyes, son…That's right…Now, concentrate on your breathing. Nothing else exists for you. Slowly, inhale…exhale…inhale…slow…slow it down..."

It took several minutes of coaching before Hotch's muscles relaxed. His shoulders eased back as tension took a rare holiday from his upper body. The doctor was listening for his cue to take the patient further. When Aaron took a particularly deep breath, lips parting slightly as he exhaled, Barton smiled.

His voice didn't reveal any feeling of triumph. If anything, it became softer, more lulling, more monotone. The doctor had debated whether he should take this subject back into his childhood, but having seen the dark-haired woman, he was fairly certain he knew what was on Mr. Hotchner's mind and the conflict it engendered. He decided to investigate the dream itself. _It'll be crystal clear to all of us, including him, once he remembers the details._ Barton sighed. _But he's going to regret having her here. Chains? His children? Probably some unresolved penchant for bondage crashing head-on with a desire to have her bear his offspring. Poor guy…_

"Okay, Mr. Hotchner…keep breathing…nice and slow…slow…slow…Your dream…it's happening…but it's not dangerous…you can leave it at any time…you can control it…breathe…slowly…slowly…tell me where you are…"

The Unit Chief's voice still sounded like rumbling thunder, but it was a different version. Rossi's eyes flicked up, catching Prentiss's looking back at him. There was a growling undertone that didn't sound quite…human… It was guttural and primitive, and made the hair on both agents' necks rise.

"Caaaage…cauuuught meeee…" A low, toneless sound began to grow deep in Hotch's chest.

There was something primal about it. Barton frowned. "Breathe, Mr. Hotchner…breathe…inhale…exhale…slow…stay with me…" _Cage? Maybe he's a little kinkier than I thought._ "Stay calm…look around you…tell me what you see…you can stop any time…you're in control…look around…"

Despite the doctor's coaching, Hotch's respiration roughened, growing shallow and desperate. The growl didn't leave his voice. "Killllling…killllingggg…" Barton stared. He had no idea what was going on. His best hope was that, once the patient awakened, he'd be able to recall it in detail, which would allow him to understand and resolve the dream's source.

With no warning, Hotch's growl rose to a shrieking, whining, scream. "PUPS! PUPSSSS! PUPPPPPSSSS!"

Prentiss couldn't stand it. Her heart was pounding; her fists clenched. Her lungs labored in rhythm with Aaron's. She alone knew what her leader must be experiencing yet again. "Noooo…," she moaned.

The moment she broke and pushed off from the wall, rocketing toward the couch, Hotch's words descended into an unintelligible snarl. Lips writhing back from his teeth…

…he lunged for the doctor's throat.


	36. Partners

" _Holy shi_ …!" Dr. Barton's strangled expletive was lost beneath his patient's snarling attack.

He propelled himself backwards, the wheels on his chair squeaking at the unaccustomed velocity. When they encountered the edge of the small carpet the doctor's interior designer had added to his office décor to 'warm the place up,' they snagged. Chair and doctor tumbled to the ground in an ignominious heap.

Simultaneously…

The outer door burst open, revealing Reid, Morgan, J.J. and Garcia. Alerted by the sound of an animal attack, they were momentarily frozen, gaping at the therapy session that had degenerated into a free-for-all centered around their raging leader.

Rossi made a grab for Hotch, missing; his fingers grazing, but failing to grip shoulders that bunched with muscular tension, bent on vanquishing the doctor.

Prentiss had known they were entering dangerous, subconscious territory. She didn't question the occult awareness that told her Hotch would strike. She had moved a fraction of a second before anyone else. She threw herself against her leader; her full body weight knocking him off target. As Barton sprawled on the floor, scrabbling to get yet further away from the frothing animal bent on his demise, Emily wrestled with Aaron.

She was no match for him physically. With the added factors of his fury and desperation, all she could hope for was to delay his reaching the doctor. When she felt Hotch's weight being lifted away from her, she was relieved to realize Morgan had entered the fray. But all that served to do was incite the crazed thing that was their Unit Chief to greater efforts.

"Dammit, Barton, _wake him up_!" Rossi's shout broke through the stupefied expression on the doctor's face. The man seemed mesmerized by the struggling agents.

Morgan had wrapped Hotch in a bear hug, Aaron's back pressed against him as he pinioned the man's arms to his sides and tried not to squeeze too hard. What Derek found most distressing was that his boss wasn't fighting with the cagy agility of which he was capable. What he held was a beast trying to thrash its way free with no thought for its own physical welfare.

Barton clambered to his feet, intending to approach his patient, but the red-rimmed eyes that glared at him out of Hotch's face made him recoil. He'd seen the entire gamut of human emotions in the course of his career, but _this_ … His breath caught as he realized… _This_ _ **isn't**_ _human! This is_ _ **in**_ _human!_

In the tiny window between Morgan's intervention and the doctor's hesitation, Prentiss slipped in once again.

"Hotch! _Hotch_!" She managed to lay her palms along their boss's gaunt cheeks, trying to control his wild movements by forcing him to focus on her.

"Prentiss, NO! He's out of control!" She ignored Derek's warning…

…and then, from somewhere or some-when, she didn't know why or how, but the compulsion was too strong to resist…she pressed her lips against Hotch's ear and whispered, "Es esmu šeit, es esmu šeit, mans draugs, mans partneris, man ir jums ..." But in Emily's ears is sounded like _I'm here, I'm here, my friend, my partner, I have you..._

The effect on Hotch was electric, like cutting the current that animated his limbs. With no warning that his adversary would cease struggling, Morgan fought to keep his balance. The other observers, doctor and agents, stared, trying to understand what was happening.

Prentiss held Aaron's face between her palms. She pressed her forehead against his. "Es esmu šeit, es esmu šeit," she murmured _I'm here, I'm here..._

Hotch's guttural, growl creaked in response. "You left me...You left me...You left me..." His tortured, brown eyes rose to meet hers. "Why?...Whyyyyy…?"

All Prentiss could do was shake her head and gather him into a hug as best she could with Morgan still holding on. She still didn't know where all this was coming from, but it felt like puzzle pieces in her soul sliding into place.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Dr. Barton opted to retreat once he saw the rogue FBI agent had calmed. He backed away and sought refuge behind his nice, solid, defensible desk.

Morgan panted, waiting until he was sure Hotch wouldn't succumb again to whatever had coursed through him, making him more beast than man. When Prentiss seemed in control, he released his boss, letting his hands slide down and away until the man was free.

The only sounds in the room for several beats were the Unit Chief's harsh, whistling gasps and Derek's labored breathing.

Rossi broke the relative silence. "Children, I think it's time for us to leave." He nodded at Barton as he bent to retrieve Aaron's shoes. "I trust you'll maintain patient confidentiality, Doctor. I'll see your receptionist about the bill."

"Tha…that's…uh…never mind…" The only coin Saul Barton was interested in obtaining was that of their departure.

He stayed behind the fortress of his desk until the agents had left, the dark-haired woman still holding onto a shivering, but subdued, Mr. Hotchner.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

Once they were in the elevator that would take them down to street level, Rossi handed Aaron his shoes. The Unit Chief was unsteady, but managed to put them on without help.

They walked out to the SUV in shocked silence. Reid slid behind the wheel. J.J. rode shotgun once again. Rossi, Morgan and Garcia crammed into the back seat, managing to give Hotch and Prentiss a space to huddle together. For a few minutes, no one moved. No one spoke.

Except Emily. She had a distant, distracted look in her eyes, but she pulled Aaron's head down to her shoulder and stroked his hair with one hand as she gazed out the window.

Rossi was reminded of how he would absentmindedly pat Mudgie after a long case when the dog needed reassurance that his best friend was back home and still loved him as much as ever. He took a deep breath. "Well. That was…" He paused. "Hell, I don't know _what_ that was."

"I do." Morgan's adrenalin was still rushing from having to overpower Hotch. "That was bat-shit crazy! What were you thinking, Bossman?!"

"Shhh! Leave him alone." Prentiss returned from wherever her thoughts had taken her in full protective mode. Her frown and her tone were like an aftershock to the entire experience.

Another few minutes of silence fell. Reid had been studying Emily and Aaron in the rearview mirror. He pitched his voice to be as neutral and inoffensive as possible. "Prentiss? What was that language you were speaking?"

"Huh?" Her scowl deepened. "Wha'd'you mean? What language?"

"When you were talking to Hotch. What was that? I didn't recognize it."

"Reid, I don't know what you're talking about."

The young genius accessed his phenomenal memory. "You said…'Es esmu šeit.' You repeated it a couple of times. There was more, but I couldn't catch it."

Emily felt her heartrate increase. "That's Latvian, I think…I'm not sure."

"What does it mean?" Now Reid was the one frowning. Why did his teammate looked confused and even a little scared?

"I don't know what it means. I don't speak Latvian. Or any of the Baltic languages. I don't. But I can recognize some of them."

Silence filled the SUV interior again.

All eyes were on Prentiss and Hotch, displaying various levels of concern. Even Garcia didn't think the occult aura surrounding them was 'cool' anymore. It was dark and violent.

"We're not going to figure anything out here." Rossi took command of the situation. "Let's go back to the hotel. We can talk about it more there. And Hotch needs rest."

"I'm not leaving him." Emotion throbbed in Emily's voice. "He can sleep, but I'm staying by him." Only Aaron heard her whisper against his hair. "I need to call my mother back. Maybe she can help…but I won't leave you. I'm sorry if I ever did."

A small whimper in the back of Hotch's throat might have been gratitude.

Or doubt.


	37. Alone

Reid's curiosity was running rampant.

His brain itched with the desire to delve into whatever Hotch and Prentiss had experienced as a result of the hypnotherapy session. He also wanted to get online as soon as possible and translate the snippets of…Latvian?...that he'd heard Prentiss utter. He had a feeling that if they unearthed enough puzzle pieces, he'd be able to discern a pattern.

And he was sure that pattern would be one of the most intriguing he'd ever encountered. He couldn't wait to interpret it.

Morgan, J.J., and Garcia were more concerned than curious. What Reid found to be intellectually stimulating, they found discomfiting to the extreme. They milled about in the hotel lobby, watching their silent leader.

Hotch seemed bent on communing with the ground. He kept his gaze downward. The very hunch of his shoulders said he wanted time to absorb whatever doors in his psyche had been unlocked on the therapist's couch. _No…not unlocked_ , he brooded. _More like thrown open…torn off their hinges. And there's no way to close up the gaping holes into God-knows-what, and God-knows-when that were behind them._

He mumbled thanks and apologies and something about sleep, although that was farther from his unsettled mind than ever, and made his way toward the bank of elevators that would take him to the seventh floor and his room.

"Why don't you guys get us a table in the dining room? I'll be back down in a minute. We'll talk." Rossi tossed the suggestion over his shoulder as he followed slow-moving Hotch. Prentiss was already trailing him. She'd seemed like Aaron's quiet shadow ever since they'd left Barton's office.

No words were spoken for the first six floors. As they reached the seventh, Hotch roused himself from his reverie. "You guys don't need to come with me. I'm fine. I'm just gonna go to bed."

Both the other two noticed he hadn't said 'go to sleep.' It was a tiny distinction, but to profilers it indicated the Unit Chief was anything but 'fine.' He'd likely spend hours brooding alone until exhaustion claimed him. The adrenaline rush at the doctor's was still in effect. _It_ would decide when his body would be allowed to rest. Until then, his mind would be a churning version of Hell.

"You sure? You want me to get you anything?" Rossi's concern was palpable. He wanted to help; he just didn't know how. He was having a hard time processing the transformation he'd witnessed during the hypnosis. He'd been expecting to see a victim of childhood trauma emerge; not a ravening beast. And definitely not a beast that Prentiss could control with a word.

They reached room 712. "No. Thanks, Dave, but I…I don't know…I'm sorry. I need to be a-alone." Hotch's voice cracked on the last word. He paused before the door, giving his teammates a look filled with regretful confusion.

"I'm not leaving." Prentiss locked eyes with him. She didn't blink. Neither did he. At last, Hotch nodded and unlocked the door. He passed inside. Emily turned at the threshold. For a moment Rossi thought she had something to say to him, but then she seemed to think better of it. With a shrug and a shake of her head, she followed Aaron, closing the door with a soft, definitive click, leaving Dave on the other side.

He stood in the hallway for a moment, head bowed, listening. There was only the susurrating hiss of the hotel's air conditioning. Rossi plodded back to the elevator, feeling as though a personal crisis of faith was looming over him.

Hotch wasn't the only one who needed some time to sort things out.

XXXXXXXXXXX

A faint, lemony fragrance told the agents that housekeeping had tidied the room in their absence.

Without turning any lights on, the Unit Chief made a beeline for the freshly-made bed. He kicked off his shoes and huddled as close to the far wall as he could get, curled on his side, back to the rest of the room…the rest of the world…but particularly back toward Prentiss. His voice was muffled. "You don't have to stay. I'm fine."

She crossed the room and took a seat on the mattress edge. After a moment, she reached out and rested her hand on the indentation that was his waist. She could feel his tension. He was struggling to control himself.

It was the last thing she wanted.

"Hotch, I can't leave." She felt a quiver run through him and pressed her hand down more firmly, as though underlining her presence and intention to remain. "I don't know why…but I can't. I need you to explain it." She could feel his respiration grow ragged beneath her palm. "You said I left you before. I have to know what you saw…or…or felt. You know something now that you didn't a few hours ago. The hypnosis brought it out. I can't…I won't…" She took a deep breath, expelling it through pursed lips in a long, slow exhalation.

Hotch heard it and knew it was her 'tell.' It only surfaced when she was truly upset. As much as he was hurting inside, he couldn't ignore her need. He never could. Only this time he knew why.

"It…it was like a pact…" His words were low…private…yet they pulsed with emotion. "…I don't know how or when it began, but it was our law. Once you took me as your partner, your companion, we were tied to each other. Neither of us would ever be a-alone…ever…again." He hesitated, trying to get his inner turmoil under control. Emily spoke into the pause, softly, like something from the dim edges of memory…

"I had your back…"

Hotch snuffled, rubbing his nose before continuing, but still refusing to look at her. "I took you to see my family…my pups…my…my m-mate…" Prentiss felt her throat tighten. She knew what was coming. "That's when they came. And I trusted you. I thought we'd fight them together." Aaron's voice broke on a sob, quickly suppressed. "But when I fell…when they got me, I looked back and you were gone."

Emily's hand squeezed his waist. The body beneath her hand was taut with tension…or maybe it was the desire to escape her touch.

"They took my family. They made my children kill each other. They made me watch." She could tell he was crying now. Not even bothering to try and hide it. "I never saw you again. You left me…you left me…a-alone…" He gasped the loneliness that was the underlying theme of his life even today… "Alone…I'm alone…"

Hotch curled in on himself in a miserable, little ball and gave in to his grief. It didn't matter when or where or what he was when it had happened. It was lodged in his soul. Inescapable.

Prentiss had nothing to say. She felt overwhelmed; buried beneath waves of shame and guilt. _I_ _ **couldn't**_ _have done something like that, could I?_ She bit her lip until it hurt, watching one of the finest men she'd ever known hurting because he believed she'd betrayed him.

She wanted to talk to her mother. She wanted to touch bases with the rest of the team. She wanted to hide away from her own growing dread that Hotch might be right about her… _but it wasn't really me, was it?...it was some bird-creature I'm not even sure really existed, right?...Is this for real?..._

But his grief was real. And in the end, all she could do was stroke his side and whisper over and over and over…

… "I'm here…I'm here…I'm here…"


	38. Phone Home

"How's he doin'?"

Morgan was the first to address Rossi as the older man joined the rest of the team. They'd chosen a table in the far corner of the hotel dining room. Nonetheless, Dave kept his voice low when he answered. If anyone knew what had been happening over the last few days, they'd consider this elite squad of FBI agents a gaggle of credulous crackpots.

"I dunno. Says he wants to be alone."

Looks were exchanged. "So where's Emily?" Garcia's large eyes blinked from behind ruby-red frames. She felt a little at loose ends: Reid had appropriated her laptop and was deep in his concentration zone, bent over the keyboard and seemingly oblivious to his surroundings.

"Guess 'alone' doesn't apply to her." You would have had to know Rossi well to detect the unhappy undercurrent in his words, and the immediate company knew their senior teammate very well indeed. He was usually the one who could talk Hotch down off whatever ledge the man found himself occupying. Dave was the one who knew their Unit Chief's internal workings best. He knew when to push, or pull, or cajole, or smack, or hug. Usually.

Sadly, there was nothing 'usual' about their current circumstances and Rossi felt helpless.

Morgan scrubbed at his face, trying to erase the disturbing aftertaste of this entire layover. "Man, I wish we'd never come here. Place is weird."

"We had to come, Derek." J.J.'s calm voice was soothing. "We had a case. But…" A livelier tone made the others glance her way…except for Reid, still lost to the internet. "…the good news is that it looks like the winds are picking up. Fog should be lifting. Our pilot says he's sure we can leave tomorrow."

"Well, that's something anyway." Morgan leaned back in his chair, inspecting the dreary Seattle sky outside the large, plate glass windows lining the far wall. "But the damage is already done, right?"

"I don't know." Rossi's gaze was fixed on the tabletop. He picked at the edge of his napkin. "I get the impression whatever's wrong has been a long time in the making. Even if you don't buy into the whole otherworldly aspect of it, as much as we want to help, I think this might be something Prentiss and Hotch have to work out on their own. It doesn't need to include the rest of us…unless they ask for our input."

There were general nods of acceptance all around, except for J.J.. She watched Rossi with grave eyes. The only mother at the table, she was particularly sensitive to all things parental. She supposed Dave felt left out when it came to this personal crisis in Hotch's life. She knew he'd been a little hurt when Aaron hadn't shared his split with Haley when it happened. She also knew it would have been much better for both men if they'd gotten together on that issue as it happened. Hotch had needed a very particular kind of reassurance and support that Rossi, as a divorced man, was uniquely qualified to provide. Then, too, Dave had needed to feel…well… _needed_.

She spoke into the lull broken only by Reid's keyboard-clacking. "Rossi, I think it's more a matter of Hotch not knowing _what_ he needs, or how to ask for it, than wanting to go it alone. And maybe he's in a little bit of denial. I mean, it is kind of uncharacteristic for him to believe in…you know…" Her shrug alluded to anything and everything that could be considered paranormal.

For a moment Dave fixed her with a considering look. He gave a slow nod.

One thing he knew for certain was that arguably the deepest wound in Aaron's heart was his ongoing perception of being completely alone. It wasn't his choice. It just was. No matter how many people were willing to stand by his side, the man felt isolated.

 _So maybe this will help us figure out where that comes from._

This was already a painful process, but, if it could accomplish some healing in the end, it might be a good thing.

A sad, but hopeful, smile touched Rossi's lips even though his mind still balked at the concept of Hotch's soul transmigrating from beast to man

… _and back again? No. I'm not going to think about that…_

XXXXXXXXXXXX

Hotch exhausted himself.

His mind simply shut down, unable to absorb the collision of past, present, and, according to Madame Sobrani, future realities. Sleep wrapped him in its merciful grip, pushing him into a deep, dreamless place, and abandoning him there for several hours at least.

Prentiss watched as her leader quieted.

He was still curled away from her, but if she leaned over she could see his profile and the dried salt tracks of his tears, faint traces of silver in the muted light. "Hotch?" It was barely above a whisper. "Hotch, are you awake? Are you still here?"

She shivered at her own words. He could be anywhere. He could be caged, embattled, looking over his shoulder for the one person he never thought would desert him. She bit her lip. Dreams were no longer the harmless firings of an unconscious mind. They were harbingers. Maybe good. Maybe bad. She wasn't sure which, and that was a big part of the problem. _How do you know what to do when you have no idea what the outcome will be? Or when it'll come to pass?_

Emily frowned down at her Unit Chief's quiet, still face. She'd never known a man with such command ability who could be hurt so deeply he was unable to hide the pain. He didn't seem ashamed of his tears, and he wasn't emotionally weak, but his odd combination of strength, courage and passion set him apart from the rest of his sex…at least, in her experience it did.

 _He feels things much more…I dunno…completely?...than others. He's different._ A small voice whispered up from the same place that spawned her guilt… _That's because there are no elements of meanness or cruelty. His heart is pure…and it trusted you…_

"Hotch? Can you hear me?"

When Prentiss was sure he couldn't, she moved to a chair across the room where she could still keep an eye on him.

She called her mother.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

In the end, Ambassador Prentiss had used a pair of tongs to pick up the turquoise necklace.

She'd poked at it as though it were a living entity coiled to strike back in its own defense at being boxed and covered. Elizabeth controlled her urge to grasp the thing and put it on…to put it around her own neck and know the magic, the sensuality of living flight again.

After the thing had been put safely out of sight, she found the temptation it represented began to wane. She was relieved, too, when the chill in her fingertips began to abate.

Yet the amulets still consumed her mind. Not so much with the promise of wings, but because Elizabeth was having second thoughts about her promise to Emily that she would allow her the choice she herself had been denied by her own mother.

The Ambassador sat at her kitchen table, staring at the box and holding an inner debate.

 _If I follow through and let her touch this thing, she might not be able to pull away from it the way I did._ She closed her eyes in remembrance of the pulling, tearing sensation when she'd felt another second in that strange limbo would have destroyed her. _And there's no way to warn her sufficiently. I know my girl. She's a risk-taker, and if she thinks this…heirloom?...will give her the answers she seeks, no risk will seem insurmountable._

 _But if I change my mind…if I hide it and don't let her near it…then I'll be breaking any newfound trust I might develop with my own daughter. It would be a sad thing to die, knowing I'd leave her with that…that_ _ **lack**_ _…If I died with this distance between us._

Elizabeth ran her hands through her hair in frustration. _But it's selfish of me to think of how I'll be perceived after I'm gone. My Emily is the most important legacy I could ever have. Her safety means everything._

 _But what about her happiness? Her peace of mind?_

Before she could delve deeper into the matter of daughters and wings and turquoise, the Ambassador's phone rang. Her breath caught as she saw the caller ID.

 _Emily…_

The time for debate was over.


	39. Folklore and Fairytales

Rossi had brought everyone up to date on the therapy-session-gone-wrong at Dr. Barton's office. They'd all seen their leader in attack mode. Really, the only thing they hadn't known was Aaron's mention of being caged, and the odd, inhuman tone of his speech. The conversation had faltered to a stop while each of Hotch's co-workers considered how these latest pieces fit into the increasingly complex puzzle that was their boss. Throughout, Reid had continued surfing the internet.

Now, his eyes glowed with satisfaction as he peered at Garcia's laptop monitor. " Oh, man. Guys, I think I found something."

Morgan had been lounging, slumped down in his chair. He pulled himself upright, frowning. "You didn't. There's no way you can find anything that'll prove any of…" His scowl deepened. "…of this…this _stuff_!"

The young genius wasn't deterred by the ring of challenge in his teammate's voice. "Of course not. There is no definitive proof. No one says there is…but remember I _did_ say that most myths and legends have their genesis in fact? Well, I think I found the direct descendent of whatever's happening to Hotch and Prentiss." One side of his mouth quirked upward in an ironic grin aimed at Derek. "Or _did_ happen to them. Or _did_ happen to some earlier version of them. _If_ you can set aside disbelief long enough to let your mind open juuuust a little."

"Kid, just tell us." At the moment, Rossi didn't have patience for a playful battle between skepticism and gullibility.

With a small, triumphant nod, Reid returned his attention to the monitor. "Well, Prentiss is partly of Slavic descent. And I already told you guys that there's a lot of avian influence in the culture in that part of the world. But…" He turned the laptop around, revealing what he'd found to the others. "…this is the legend that gets my vote."

Everyone, even Morgan, leaned in closer, eyes squinting and peering. A column of text flowed around an illustration rendered in deep, rich, jewel tones.

Garcia drew in a sharp breath. "Ohhh…Emmm…Geee… Is that supposed to be them? Emily and Hotch?"

Morgan gave a disgusted snort and slumped back down in his chair, arms crossed to demonstrate his refusal to play along with what he considered a ridiculous departure from common sense. Still, he couldn't help stealing glances at the drawing of a beautiful bird-like creature, wings spread as it tried to evade the outstretched arm of a man clearly bent on its capture. Emerging from the underbrush, unseen by the hunter was a large, grey, wolfish beast, its bared teeth and muscled form on a collision course with the bird's would-be captor.

"It's like a tree; a really, really ancient tree," Reid began. "At the root is a wolf and something birdlike. They're linked together in a lot of folklore. Sometimes as companions, sometimes as different stages of a journey. The stories all branch off in different directions. Almost all of them, though, start with someone finding a feather so beautiful, so rare, that a determined search begins for the creature from which it came. But the one that _this_ …" He tapped a forefinger against the screen. "…comes from has a really interesting element." He paused, savoring his rapt audience. Most of the time when he had information to offer, he was hurried along or cut off if he rambled.

Several pairs of brows rose; a polite invitation to continue.

" _This_ legend says that the way to find the source of the feather is to follow one of the wolf creatures. Be diligent and patient enough in tracking it, and it will eventually lead you to the bird."

"Kind of like the connection between unicorns and virgins? Innocence and purity attract them?" Garcia barely breathed the words. She was all too willing to jump on board anything that could lend a touch of enchantment to a world that held the kind of ugliness around which her job revolved. "Only…only…if it's a wolf…if it's Hotch…it would be something like…like loyalty and courage, right?"

Reid nodded. "Sort of. I hadn't really thought of it that way, but…yeah. Sure. Why not?"

"So how's this supposed to help Bossman?" It seemed to Morgan that his young colleague was getting carried away by the joy of discovery and of adding to his already considerable store of quirky data. He might have forgotten the main goal.

Reid pursed his lips and then chewed on them; a habit when he was discomfited. "I don't know, but…" He brightened. "…knowledge is power. And maybe it'll mean something to Hotch. If not now, then…"

"Maybe not today…maybe not tomorrow, but soon and for the rest of his life." Rossi, Garcia and J.J. spoke in unison, paraphrasing the classic line from the vintage movie 'Casablanca.'

Morgan merely groaned, head falling forward in a gesture of defeated acceptance: fairytales and fables were spilling over into the workaday world and there was nothing he could do to stop them.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Mom?"

"Emily." As bad as she'd felt when she'd touched the amulets and been torn between two realities, Elizabeth almost felt worse when the opposing forces ripping at her were her child's trust versus her child's safety.

"Mom, are you okay? You don't sound…right."

The Ambassador took a deep, shuddering breath, giving herself a fraction more time to form an argument that was more important to her than any of those she'd engaged in in a professional capacity. Treaties and trade rights paled beside her girl's welfare. "I'm fine, Emily. How are you? How's your young man?" Her heart clenched at the small snort she heard in response. It was so irreverent. So… _So Emily..._

"He's not 'my young man,' Mom. He's my boss. But…" She couldn't conceal the tremor in her voice. "…but he's not good. He's…He says…" It hurt so much she couldn't say it. _He says I betrayed him, Mom. His heart is broken. His beautiful, faithful, noble heart. I did that. Me. I abandoned him. Is that who I am? Is it?_

"Tell me, Emmie." The affectionate diminutive that she hadn't used since her daughter was a toddler was like a key, reaching into the younger woman and unlocking her.

"Mom, we went through the hypnosis session."

"And?"

"And…and it ended really badly. Hotch attacked the guy conducting it. Only, it didn't seem like Hotch. It was an animal attack. No thought. No strategy. Just…just pure fury. Life-and-death, you know?"

Elizabeth chose her words with care. "Well…hypnosis is like that. It can reach down past the civilized veneer and access the primal. Was anyone hurt?"

"No. At least, not physically." Three thousand miles away Prentiss squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, taking a brief respite from watching Aaron, as though blocking him from her field of vision would make it easier to talk. "But that wasn't the worst part, Mom. It was afterwards. Hotch told me I betrayed him…betrayed his trust. And that's why he lost his family and his life and…and…" Her throat tightened. She stopped talking rather than risk breaking down. She'd never felt close enough to her mother to be that demonstrative. She expected to be told to take a deep breath and control herself. But Elizabeth surprised her.

"And that's why he's sought you out now. Through all the countless ages of the world he found you, because he needs a reason. He needs to know why…" The Ambassador's words trailed off, leaving shocked silence in their wake.

"Mom…you really believe this? You don't think this is all some kind of…I dunno…hallucination? You think this is _real_?"

The response was slow in coming, as though Elizabeth were picking her way through a minefield. "Sometimes I think, in order to grasp a greater truth, we have to suspend disbelief. Sometimes we have to take things on faith and abide by our feelings rather than our facts. Sometimes we have to trust."

Emily frowned, suspicion growing. "What are you saying?"

Her mother took a deep breath. "I want you to accept my judgment in this matter. I want you to let me try to protect you, dear. You were always so difficult to keep safe. Always climbing and leaping and rushing headlong. I could never do enough to…to temper that in you. Please…please, Emmie, let me keep you from taking an unnecessary risk. Please."

Prentiss stared unblinking at the still form of her Unit Chief. In her mind she heard his velvet growl of a voice telling her again how he'd looked for her. And she realized… "No. No, Mom. This isn't just about me. This is about more pain than either of us can imagine. It's about a chance to end it, or at least understand it. If I throw this chance away, then I'll spend the rest of my life believing the worst possible things about myself." She couldn't keep the emotion from rising in her voice. After a moment, she didn't bother trying. "If you make this decision for me, then it will always be between us. There won't be a way to make it right. And every time I think of you, you'll be the person who chose to do that to me…and to Hotch…to us both. I swear…" Her tone swelled with outrage. "…I'll never see you any other way. Is that how you want to be remembered, Mom? Is it? As the person who condemned us to pain?"

All the arguments she'd been crafting to convince herself that she was doing the right thing burned a new trajectory through Elizabeth's mind. _Emily_ _ **is**_ _my greatest legacy. But if this turns her bitter and if self-loathing and self-doubt replace all the glorious courage that she's always had, although I don't know where it came from…then both of us lose. And her leader, too._ _ **All**_ _of us lose…_

Still, the Ambassador had to try one last time. "What if I told you that, if you touch these amulets, you'll never be free of them? That they'll enslave you and you'll never be at peace again? What then, Emily?"

"I'll never be at peace anyway, Mom. If I'm a traitor, if I betrayed loyalty and faithfulness…and I don't know why…I'll never be at peace anyway."

"Alright, dear. Alright. Come see me when you get back."

Emily wasn't sure, but she thought she heard a sob as her mother cut the connection.

She put her phone away and resumed her vigil, watching over Aaron.


	40. Where Eagles Soar

It was a very short note.

In the end all the things Elizabeth Prentiss wanted to say to her daughter tumbled and collided and condensed down into a few words.

 _Emily, I'll do my best to find the answers for you and Mr. Hotchner. If anything goes wrong, please take it as a warning and don't go looking yourself. Don't touch the necklace. Destroy it and be done with it. The best advice I can give to both of you is…don't look back._

 _Despite what you think, I_ _have_ _always and_ _will_ _always_

 _love you._

 _Mom_

The Ambassador picked up the box containing the amulets. She didn't know if it was her imagination or if she'd already forged a bond with them, but as she trudged up the stairs to her bedroom with leaden steps, she imagined their cold already infusing her bones.

When she slipped them over her neck, she felt as chill as a marble statue.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

After her mother hung up on her, Prentiss stared at Hotch's sleeping form for a moment. When he showed no sign of rousing, she slipped her phone back in her pocket, drew her knees up until she was curled in a ball that rivaled his, and let herself shed a few, quiet tears.

They were tributes. They were symbols of the relationship she wished she'd had with at least one parent. If she was honest with herself, they harkened back to a time when all she wanted was maternal approval; a validation of her place and herself when she couldn't find it anywhere else. Being an Ambassador's daughter meant never putting down roots.

Prentiss thought she harbored a secret desire that this turquoise necklace her mother spoke of with such dread would show her roots the like of which she'd never imagined. _At last…something I can hug to myself even if I can't share it, and say 'You're part of something, Emily. You belong to a tradition. You're not alone…'_

Her breath hitched. She raised her head and looked toward Aaron again. _Alone. That's how he said you left him. All alone._

She began to understand some of her leader's pain. _But he lost his mate…his children…And he thinks the pattern's repeating. All he has to look forward to is hurt and loss again and again and again._

Jaw clenched, Prentiss rose and crossed to the bed. She sat close beside Hotch, tucking her legs under her. She stroked his hair and thought of thick, glossy, black fur…and a soul that deserved so much better than what fate had bequeathed it.

 _No. Not just fate. I had a hand in it. My fault._

"I won't leave you, Hotch. I swear I'll stand by you no matter what we find out about…about that other time…about that other 'us.' I'll make it right. Somehow I'll make it right."

Her words were soft as a breeze, but Aaron stirred under her touch.

She bit her lip and wondered where he was when he whimpered in his sleep.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

"Should we go check on them?" J.J. glanced over her shoulder toward the lobby and the elevators that would take them to Hotch's room where they assumed he and Prentiss were discussing matters.

They'd listened to Reid detail several different fables that contained heavy involvement of wolves and birds. He'd shown them snippets of Stravinsky's ballet 'The Firebird' to show how pervasive the legend was, appearing in multiple artistic disciplines. The basic premise was hard to accept, but the more he talked, the more he found, the more omnipresent the legend seemed.

Particularly when it was having such a strong effect on two of their teammates.

Rossi pushed away from the table and stretched. "No. We don't want to descend on them like…"

"Like a flock! Like a pack!" Garcia had taken back control of her laptop from Reid and was shimmering with delight at what she considered proof that the world was enchanted and was operating under karmic guidance. She'd trembled at the trauma her Raven-Haired Beauty and White Knight were suffering, but, true to form, she'd rallied by harnessing her inner conviction that Good Will Triumph. And wasn't it wonderful that magic was real.

"Baby Girl…It's Bossman and Prentiss. No wings. No feathers. No fangs. No fur." Morgan stuck to his guns regarding the paranormal, but even he had to admit that this was more than mere fancy, considering the personalities involved. Hotch and Emily were level-headed, logical, and grounded.

"I'll go look in on them. See if they need anything." Rossi stood. "But for the most part, I think we should let them alone until they come to us."

"Like…like a wild bird! Or…or a feral dog!"

There was no muzzling Garcia.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

It was even more wonderful than the first time.

And more painful.

Elizabeth lay on her bed, arms outstretched like wings. The turquoise necklace was around her neck, resting against her chest, just over her heart. A part of her knew she was in a modern condo in a world with traffic and cell phones and politics, but the biggest portion of her consciousness was soaring free, unimaginably distant in time and locale.

One thing about the Ambassador: she was as sharp, as keen as a scalpel. She ratcheted her mind down to laser-like focus and didn't allow herself to get lost in the sensation of flight. This time she had a goal. She knew where she'd seen them last time. She would do her best to seek them out before the dichotomy of being two different creatures tore her asunder.

 _There's a reason I was brought here. This is a place of instincts; stripped bare of the civilized trappings with which we've learned to clothe ourselves._ She felt the sweep and pull of powerful wings. _She was my daughter here, too…_

She crested a forested rise, knowing what she'd see. _Maybe this species has a touch of telepathy. How else would I_ _ **know**_ _where to find her? And I_ _ **know**_ _he'll be with her. And she's not panicked right now…not at all…she's safe…she's happy…they're going someplace together…he's taking her someplace special…_

Then she saw again, the hunters. Furtive figures creeping in formation. A party bent on capturing this rarity of the world, the winged woman.

She saw the inevitable. Terror raced through her veins like molten ice. Without thinking, she shouted a warning to the woman and wolf on the ground far below, walking together, innocent of danger.

Back in her bedroom, Elizabeth flinched with the shock. What had issued from her throat was an eagle's scream. Yet she understood it. It was their language. It was their warning.

The pair on the ground looked up. The hunters closed in. Bows were strung. Arrows flew. The wolf lunged, throwing himself against all odds…

The last thing Elizabeth heard was the winged woman's own eagle-cry. And she understood it…

' _ **Mother! Help us! Mooootherrrr!'**_

When it was cut off midway, the utter silence Elizabeth felt wasn't only auditory. The sensation of another in her mind was gone.

There was only a terrible stillness and a welling of agony.


	41. Non-Answers

Rossi stood outside the door to room 712, head bowed, listening.

When he didn't hear the low murmur of conversation, he wondered if he should intrude at all. He settled on a diplomatically soft, light knock that could be ignored, if the room's occupants so chose. But after a moment, he heard movement.

The door opened. Prentiss looked out at him with red-rimmed eyes. She placed her index finger against her lips, signaling the need for quiet.

Rossi noticed the slightest tremor in those lips and frowned his concern as he whispered, "Are you alright? Anything I can do?"

She shook her head, lips pursing as she exhaled…her 'tell.' "Emily, are you sure? Can I get you anything?"

Prentiss glanced over her shoulder, back into the darkened room. She took a step out into the hallway, but kept her hand on the doorknob. It was clear to Dave that she was upset and unwilling to leave Hotch, although, from the lack of noise, it was a pretty good bet that their Unit Chief had finally found the sleep he so sorely needed.

"Rossi?" Her voice was low, private. "Do you believe in all this? I mean, I know you're trying to help, but do you really think we keep coming back and…and reliving the same patterns?"

Dave searched the dark eyes looking up at him, filled with such an earnest plea. He knew the answer she wanted, but he also knew the answer she deserved: an honest one. So, he chose his words with care. "I believe that you and Hotch are caught up in something I don't understand. I believe two people I care very much about, my family, are hurting. I don't need to know any more than that. All I want to do is help."

It wasn't a very satisfactory response. A non-answer, in fact.

"But…" Prentiss chewed on her lip for a moment. "But, do you think we're crazy? Delusional?"

Rossi felt a momentary frisson of surprise when his answer came quickly and without reservation. "No. I don't think you're crazy. Either of you." His smile was sheepish. "I guess I believe in _you_ …even if I don't believe in _it_." He saw her accept this, turning it over in her mind, evaluating it. "Is he asleep?" Dave tilted his head toward the room's interior.

"Yeah. Yes, he is." Emily stepped away from the doorway, automatically assuming Hotch's best friend would want to see him, if for no other reason than to reassure himself the man was resting peacefully. "Just be quiet, okay?"

"Sure." Rossi entered, Prentiss close behind. He crossed to the bed and took a critical look at the figure huddled on top of the bedspread. Indentations in the blankets and pillows told him Emily had been sitting next to her boss. There was a damp, wadded washcloth on top of one nightstand.

Without a word she resumed her place beside Aaron. Picking up the washcloth, she leaned over and with gentle, delicate movements dabbed at the few remaining tear tracks.

Rossi watched for several heartbeats, feeling as though no matter what else was happening in the world at this moment, these two people had found their proper places. Side by side. He studied Prentiss's expression, seeing tenderness and sorrow mixed. "Emily?"

She continued daubing at Hotch's still face, not looking up. "Hmmm?"

"Emily, do you love him?" It was something that had crossed Dave's mind over the years, but he'd never pursued it, primarily because it was none of his business as long as it didn't interfere with Hotch's leadership or the team's performance. Then, too, Aaron wasn't the type to cross lines when it came to rules about fraternization.

Prentiss continued her work, seemingly unaffected by such a personal question. But after a long pause, her lips stretched in a slow, ironic grin. She gave Rossi a sly, sidelong glance. "Don't you?"

It was the best non-answer he would get.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Hotch slept through the rest of the day as well as the following night.

When he woke, dawn was just seeping around the edges of the hotel drapes. He realized he was ravenous. A moment later he also realized he wasn't alone.

Prentiss was slouched in the room's only easy chair, pulled close, her feet up on the bed. Slow, even breathing told Hotch she was asleep. For a disoriented moment he couldn't figure out why she was there. Then memory of the previous day's events came crashing down on him like a mental tsunami.

 _Oh, no…_ Another wave, one of humiliation, engulfed him. _She saw me sobbing like a damn baby over…what?...something no one can prove?...a fairy story to scare a child?...I'm an idiot…_

He swung his legs around, sitting up on the edge of the mattress, eyes closed as he waited for the shame to ebb enough so he could store it away with all the other things he kept hidden, and pretend it had never happened. Before he could, a quiet voice intruded.

"Hotch? How are you feeling?"

 _Like a worm…_ "I'm…I'm okay. I'm good." He inhaled a deep, steadying breath. "I'm sorry I went off the deep end before. I think I was just tired…you know?" He spared a quick glance from beneath his brows. She was studying him, but her expression gave nothing away. _Maybe she'll pretend that meltdown never happened, too. That would be the best I could hope f…_

"I talked to my mother again while you were asleep."

 _Uh-oh._ "Your mother?"

Prentiss nodded. "She wants to see us as soon as we get back. Both of us." She saw the questions in his eyes. "She's against it, but I want to try what she did with that necklace. You know…touch it and see if it tells me anything."

"She was pretty upset after doing that, Prentiss. Are you sure that's a good idea?"

"I might see more than she did."

"You might be affected more, too." _Thank God there's something to talk about besides me._ "Did you ask her if it's the same as that necklace in Garcia's cave painting?"

Emily's brows rose. With all that had happened, she hadn't thought to go down that particular avenue. "No. I didn't. Hang on." In a matter of seconds she had acquired the image from Penelope and was calling the elder Prentiss as it transferred.

The call went to voicemail.

An hour later when the team had assembled at the airstrip and were ready to bid Seattle a not-so-fond farewell, the Ambassador still wasn't picking up her calls.

Two hours later, while they were airborne, there was still no answer.


	42. Family Matters

The team was subdued on the flight home.

Now that the Northwest, and Madame Sobrani, and a fog that had seemed to exhibit a very _un_ -foggy talent for keeping them grounded for reasons of its own were behind them, each agent was engaged in a quiet review of the experience. But at some point, every single one ended up staring at Hotch, and then Prentiss.

The Unit Chief took his place in the rear of the cabin. He rested his head against the seat back, face averted, gazing out the window. It was a transparent attempt to hide the maelstrom of emotions surging through him from the rest of his team.

J.J. for one was having none of it. She approached bearing gifts: hot tea… Earl Grey…and a compassionate ear. She pressed the comforting warmth of the cup against Hotch's wrist until he acknowledged her presence and took it. In the liaison's view, acceptance of the beverage signaled permission to sit beside him. He murmured thanks, but continued to stare at the safe, nonjudgmental sky. She decided it would take something more drastic than 'How ya feelin'?' to oust him from his thoughts. She let him take a few sips before speaking.

"Losing a child isn't the worst thing, Hotch." Such terrible words delivered in soft, soothing tones lanced through him. He turned a disbelieving, horrified look on her, feeling as though he'd just been punched in the heart.

"Why…why would you say that, J.J.?"

"Sorry. Partly for shock effect so I know you're listening to me. It feels as though you're off in some other world these days, Hotch. And partly because you need to stop seeing a potential loss every time you look at Jack. That's what you'll be doing, won't it? You're scared, like any parent. But with you it goes deeper because of all… _that_." She inclined her head back the way they'd come, indicating the events of the last few days. "You can't let this thing rule you, Hotch." She couldn't help the tightness in her throat, the welling in her eyes, because she knew she'd be feeling the same way. "If you can't change it, you at least can't let it _rule_ you. Because worse than losing your son would be if you made him live as though he were already gone from the world, if you kept the whole world at bay from him. That's what you'll do. You'll try to protect him from everything. And you can't. You just can't."

Hotch was about to argue…and forcibly…when the old fortuneteller's few, debatable words of hope ghosted through him. _Don't fight the chains and maybe there's a chance…don't fight…_ He squeezed his eyes shut, feeling the evolution of millennium at war within him. Everything he was screamed at him to stand guard over his children… _my pups!_ …He couldn't break free of paternal instincts that ran that deep. _I can't...I can't change that…I won't!..._

A soft hand rested on his arm, giving a gentle caress. "Hotch… I'm not saying to forget it all. I know you can't. But, some things you can't control." Her voice trembled, making him think she was referencing a loss of her own. "Just remember…the life unlived…that's the worst thing. Not the life lost. Don't cripple Jack with your fear. Don't turn it into his disability."

Hotch's jaw muscles stood out as he half-turned back to looking out the window. "How? How the hell am I supposed to do that?" he gritted. _She's a mother! She'd give her life in an instant for Henry. So…?_

"Let us help."

"Help look after Jack?"

"Help keep you balanced." The small, insistent hand was back on his arm, communicating her genuine concern. "Hotch, you know when you're on the edge? When you feel all alone? That's when you have to learn to let people in."

Aaron stared at this woman who meant well, and who _did_ have the power to calm him sometimes. But she had no idea what he was fighting; what he felt hovering on the edges of his life like a constant threat.

There would be no time to make decisions and deliberate about asking for help or advice. There would be sudden catastrophe. There would be no time to do anything but react. There would be no opportunity to reach out.

There would only be the very sudden, very final end to everything he held dear. _And no one will be there to help. I'll be alone. When I fall and look back to where help should have been…she'll be gone._ It didn't matter that the image in his dreams was a winged, dark-haired woman. At this moment, that image stood for all who promised aid and then…disappeared.

"Thanks, J.J. That means a lot."

There was no point in saying anything else. _I appreciate the desire to help, but no one understands…I'm alone…_

XXXXXXXXXX

But there _was_ someone who wanted, more than anything, to understand.

Prentiss was obsessing over the turquoise amulets. The more her calls to her mother went unanswered, the more anxious she became, and the more the necklace loomed in her mind as the repository of all the answers to all the mysteries that had come to light over the past few days.

When they began the approach to Quantico, she took the seat beside Aaron that J.J. had vacated.

"Hotch, something's wrong."

The look he turned on her said _Got that right. In fact, very little_ _ **isn't**_ _wrong at the moment._ Still, despite the depth of weariness in his eyes, there was also the spark of compassion that would never go out. It was one of the things that made him a superb leader. It also made his life a torment. Hotch would always extend himself to help others. It was one of the reasons it hurt so much to think that, when _he'd_ been the one in need, he'd felt abandoned.

"What?"

Prentiss gestured, cell phone in hand. "I've been trying for hours. Can't reach my mother."

"She's probably working; involved in some negotiation she has to see through to the end."

"No."

He raised one eyebrow, what Reid referred to as 'the Spock response.' "Does the Ambassador usually return your calls right away?"

Emily gave a slight shrug, looking abashed. "I don't usually call her."

Hotch had learned very early to trust his teammates' instincts. "You don't think she isn't answering because this whole past-lives thing is uncomfortable? And maybe she needs time to reconcile it in her own mind?" His lips twitched in a mirthless, barely-there smile. "I know _I_ could use some breathing room to let things settle."

"No. I tried calling her office. She hasn't been in. Hotch, this is different. I can't explain. I just know." Her dark eyes pleaded for understanding.

"Okay. Alright…" The Unit Chief nodded. His first suggestion, had the circumstances been any less, well, _occult_ …would have been to call the Georgetown police and have them stop at the Ambassador's home to check on her. But something deep inside his gut resonated with Emily's worries. This was something best handled by family.

… _like a family…like a family…_

Hotch squeezed his eyes closed again and gave his head a single, sharp shake. For a moment he'd heard a crafty, old voice…Madame Sobrani…speaking to them all after their first encounter with her when she'd echoed words that Rossi would trot out on occasion to remind them of the special bond they shared.

"Hotch? You okay?" He opened his eyes and saw Prentiss frowning at him.

"Yeah." He nodded. "We'll go straight to you mother's place after we land." His heart longed to see Jack, but his son would already be asleep. So, as usual, Aaron would deny himself in favor of coming to the aid of a teammate.

"Thanks. I mean it." Emily shed some of the tension she'd been harboring ever since the morning when her first call home hadn't been answered. She and Hotch settled back and fastened their seatbelts for landing.

A large hand descended on Hotch's shoulder, making him look up. Rossi smiled down at him.

"Couldn't help overhearing. Mind if I tag along, children?"

"It might get weird. We don't know what we're walking into."

"Then maybe you'll let me go first. I'm not, uh, _subject_ to the same influences that you two are."

Hotch and Prentiss exchanged a look. There was no need to discuss the matter. They'd be glad of the older man's level-headed company. And he had a point: left to their own devices, they might egg each other on past the point of prudent logic.

"Thanks, Dave." "Thanks, Rossi."

They didn't see Rossi's smile fade as he resumed his own seat. He couldn't claim any paranormal talents, but nonetheless he had the feeling something bad was waiting for Emily and Aaron.


	43. Out of the Blue

There was an argument on the airstrip.

As a rule, the whole team traveled to and from the airport together in a Bureau SUV. This time, Rossi, Hotch and Prentiss picked up their go-bags and moved off on their own. Dave had called for a cab inflight. It was waiting.

"If you're goin', Rossi, I should, too." The last few days had been hard on Morgan. He could see his Bossman in trouble and was frustrated to the point of feeling ill at not being able to protect the man. Unsubs he could handle. Fantasies he could discount…unless they had the power to unsettle. And, truth be told, Derek respected Hotch too much to be as dismissive as he pretended. Not being able to beat back the thing hurting his leader, or to share the burden was eating him up inside.

He told himself it was because he felt he wasn't doing his job when the Unit Chief was visibly fragile…and maybe having Baby Girl be so accepting, even buoyant, about all things supernatural affected him…and his go-to partner in the field, Prentiss, was looking more like a fierce-eyed bird of prey every day…

It was all very confusing.

And it made him feel impotent. And that brought back the crazy, old seer's words about his _own_ past existence. And his mind would reject her scenario of his being female and a camp follower. And then he'd be only a step away from rejecting Hotch's and Prentiss's backstories. And then he'd look at them and _know_ beyond questioning that there _was_ something to it all. So his mind kept circling and spiraling and getting precisely nowhere.

But he couldn't walk away. Not yet.

When Morgan declared his intentions of tagging along, too, Reid's eyes lit up with the fire of his insatiable curiosity. Which in turn ignited Garcia's. And then J.J.'s

"NO." Rossi's expression was implacable. "We are not descending on the Ambassador like a S.W.A.T. team. She's Emily's mother, and whatever's going on involves Hotch. The Ambassador requested his presence. The rest of you…go home."

"But you're going. Why?"

"Because I'm older. Which also means you have to do as I say." There was a slight glint of humor in the senior agent's eyes, but his tone was deadly serious.

In the end, Prentiss's visible anxiety and desire to get to her mother rendered further argument not only useless, but cruel.

With Rossi's promise to keep them in the loop, they watched the taxi depart with mixed feelings and furrowed brows.

XXXXXXXXXXX

By gradual increments, Elizabeth became aware that she was floating.

No, not floating. Drifting…wings spread…mind blank…wiped clean by her daughter's terrible shriek and the wolf's howling fury.

 _And the end of something so beautiful…so precious…so irreplaceable…_

Her present-day body lay statue-still, the turquoise amulets icy against her throat.

An occasional tear leaked from the corners of her staring eyes.

She had no concept of time.

XXXXXXXXXX

"You want I should wait for you guys?" The cab driver blinked at the handsome tip Rossi had dropped into his palm. For that much, he'd be willing to sit at the curb and twiddle his thumbs for at least a couple of hours.

Prentiss was already bounding up the stairs to her mother's condo complex, Hotch in close pursuit.

Dave was about to dismiss their transportation when he thought better of it. _We don't know if anything's wrong. If we need medical help, it'd be faster to put the Ambassador in a cab than wait for an ambulance._ "Yeah. At least for a few minutes. If we don't need you, I'll come down…" He narrowed his eyes at the bills he'd already surrendered. "…and express my gratitude again."

"Sure! I'll be here. Take your time, Mister."

With a contented sigh, the driver settled back and watched his generous passenger run after the other two, calling for them to wait up.

They'd been a nervous, edgy bunch; especially the younger man and the woman. Leaning forward, urging him to run lights and change lanes. But for nearly three times the fare, he didn't mind.

Besides, the woman was pretty in a dark, smoldering way. Nervous or not, he would have put up with a lot worse to keep her in his rearview mirror.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Mom!" Prentiss lurched through the front door, alarmed that it hadn't been locked. It meant the woman was at home. That made the bevy of unanswered calls more ominous.

"MOM!" She did a quick circuit of the ground level rooms with Hotch and then Rossi close behind.

" _ **MOM!**_ " She charged up the staircase, hair streaming behind her in the wake of her desperate speed.

Trained as she was to handle all manner of grim situations, Emily still froze in the doorway when she reached her mother's bedroom. She'd been calling out at full volume, but all she could manage at sight of the body was a strangled whimper. 'M-mom…?'

Hotch slammed into the doorway a fraction of a second after Prentiss, his professional senses cataloging the scene, noting the lack of signs of violence…also noting the Ambassador's utter stillness and Emily's shock. Before he could set one foot over the threshold, large, strong hands gripped both his and Prentiss's shoulders.

"NO! Don't!" Rossi yanked Aaron backwards. He was a trifle gentler with Emily, but still forceful. He had no idea what had happened, or might happen, but he was sure whatever it was would have less effect on him than on either of his teammates. "The cab's waiting. It'll take us to the ER, but I'll carry her. You guys stand back."

Hotch didn't think he'd ever seen Prentiss's eyes quite so large and horror-filled, her lips quite so tremulous. She was staring at the necklace around her mother's neck. And it _was_ the same as the one in the cave painting Garcia had found.

"Dave, I think the only one in danger through touch is Emily. Let me…" The look on Prentiss's face was too terrible. Something had to be done. Fast. Hotch shoved his way past Rossi and his good intentions. He wasn't sure, but he wasn't willing to risk either his best friend or his alpha female. It didn't occur to him that the instinct to lead the way against danger harkened back to that other place…that other life.

He slammed to his knees on the bed. Raising Elizabeth's upper body with one gentle hand, he slipped the string of amulets off, flinging them into a corner with a canine snarl. Rossi and Prentiss reached the bed just in time to see the Ambassador's wide, staring eyes execute a rapid series of blinks.

"Mom? Mom?" Prentiss crouched beside the older woman, shivering with shock. For a moment she'd thought her mother was dead. The sight of turquoise around her neck was like a message roaring the proof of her mother's love and willingness to sacrifice herself on her daughter's behalf. "Mom? M-o-o-o-m…" Emily curled down and snuggled against the body that felt so chilled, but was beginning to move.

"We need to get her to the hospital." Rossi tried to maneuver into a position that would allow him to lift Elizabeth and carry her away.

"No…no…" It was a stiff, rusty croak, but the Ambassador still had enough authority to make him pause. She coughed and managed to grasp Emily's hand. "No…I have to tell you…" Fresh tears streamed from her eyes. "You didn't leave him, dear…You didn't leave anyone…"

She shifted her focus to Hotch, struggling to reach him. He saw and leaned closer. She rested a palm against his cheek. So uncharacteristically affectionate that the Unit Chief held very still, unsure of what this meant.

Elizabeth cleared her throat. Her chest expanded with a deep inhalation. Her voice was steadier afterwards. "She didn't leave you, Mr. Hotchner. She never would. She never will." Her face crumpled with millennial-old sorrow.

"But…but he looked for me. I was gone."

Emily's mother bit her lip. It hurt to say the words. Even now, it hurt.

"You didn't leave him, dear. I saw it all. You didn't leave...

...You died…"


	44. Shock Waves

"You died…you died…I watched you die…"

Elizabeth's voice faded on the most terrible words she'd ever uttered in a career primarily composed of speech. She sobbed once; there needed to be a new language for such loss, such pain that it traveled through time and souls without losing its crippling power. Having forced the words out, she relaxed back, her hand sliding away from Hotch's cheek, choosing instead to fully embrace her daughter.

Ordinarily restrained and distant, Elizabeth seemed to have forgotten she had an audience. She wrapped Emily in her arms and rocked her like the child she'd once been. "Emmie, my Emmie…" _The irrepressible, irresponsible, rebellious, beautiful child I keep bringing into this world lifetime after lifetime…_

"Ambassador, we need to have you checked out by a doctor." Rossi had seen Mrs. Prentiss in action once or twice on the political stage. She was all iron-clad intellect and skill. Weepy and weak-sounding…this wasn't the same woman. He felt it his duty to be the one with a clear view of how they should proceed. It was obvious to him that Emily and Hotch were stunned. _Maybe all three could use a little medical once-over…Certainly something to help them sleep tonight._

"No!" Elizabeth hunched away from Rossi's extended hands, pulling her daughter closer. "I'm not going anywhere. Can you imagine the damage to my reputation if I tell this story to anyone? If it gets out?" Her voice firmed. "If I let anything slip, I'd be paying for it for years to come. Not going to happen. But thank you for your concern." She was returning to normal…if that were possible after such an experience.

"Ma'am, I don't mean to intrude, but…"

"No. I'm staying here. And I'm staying with _them_." The Ambassador's glance included Hotch as well as Emily.

"But…"

" **No**." The sounds of steel and strength had returned to Elizabeth's voice. "Thank you for your intervention, but it ends here." There was a slight softening. "I don't mean to be impolite, Agent. But it's time for _our_ kind…" her eyes shifted between Aaron and Emily. "…to be alone."

Rossi's sigh was long-suffering, but accepting. He nodded. "Alright. The taxi's waiting…"

"I'll take care of it." Hotch pulled away from the women and stumbled his way out into the hall.

Dave mumbled some polite parting phrases and followed after, leaving mother and child on their own. His eye fell on the turquoise stones lying where they'd been thrown. He didn't feel right about leaving them. It was like leaving a loaded gun out in the open, even if he couldn't comprehend the ammunition involved.

When he moved toward them, Prentiss spoke up.

"Rossi, leave them." She saw the reluctance in his eyes that demanded reassurance. "It's okay. Hotch already touched them and he's fine. We have him to handle them. And…and they don't belong anywhere else. They're part of us."

Shaking his head, but respectful of things he didn't understand, Dave went after Hotch.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

The tip the younger man deposited in his palm wasn't as extravagant, but the cabbie was happy to have it.

He popped the trunk and watched the gaunt, dark-haired figure unload the three bags his fares had stowed there. He was about to drive off when the older man…the generous tipper…appeared at the top of the steps, signaling him to wait.

He sensed the possibility of another gratuity in the offing.

This was going to be a very profitable night.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

Rossi stood close to Hotch, their luggage piled on the pavement at their feet.

"I'd like to stay, but I have…I dunno…" He shrugged. "…a feeling that I'd be less than useless."

"You're never useless, Dave."

"Would you like me to stay? I'll keep out of sight, but I'll be there if you need me."

Hotch hesitated, looking back toward the elegant condo. He drew in a shaky breath. "I think this is mostly about _them_. I'm just gonna stay close in case Prentiss needs backup…you know?" he turned his dark stare on the older man.

Rossi nodded. "I need some time to sort this out, but I think backing Emily up is a position you've filled before." His lips twitched in a slight, mirthless smile. "I'll go tell the others not to worry. And you remember…I'm only a call away. Got that?"

Hotch nodded, but didn't look like a man who believed he had a safety net. "Thanks, Dave. For everything."

Rossi picked up his bag, gave Aaron a one-armed hug and made his way to the waiting cab and its ebullient driver.

As they pulled away from the curb, he noticed Hotch had made no move to go back inside.

XXXXXXXXXXX

Emily and Elizabeth stayed close, breathing each other's scent, surrendering to the tyranny of biology: mother and child.

After a few minutes another kind of genetic prompt goaded Emily. "Mom, are you really okay now? Really?"

"I think so."

"I have to go see how _he_ is."

They both knew to whom she was referring. And for once, Prentiss's mother was in full accord. "Bring him back in. Make sure he stays." She gritted her teeth at how difficult it was to release her child, even though she knew how strong the connection was that linked her and the dark, wolfish man. "Go. Get him."

XXXXXXXXXXXX

She found him outside.

Sitting on the concrete steps.

Cold.

Alone.

Go-bags at his feet.

She took her place beside him and forgot he was her boss, slipping one arm behind his shoulders and another across his chest so that she encircled him. She didn't have much to say. It was all too new. Too strange.

At last his ribcage heaved as he inhaled. She could feel the rumble of his voice vibrating beneath her touch. "Prentiss…"

She squeezed him a little tighter, and whispered... "I'm glad I didn't leave you in the end. I would rather have died than do that…and I guess I did. So…overall…if it had to be that way…I'm glad."

There was a catch in his gravely response. "I'm glad you died first. I'm glad you didn't have to watch what they did. And I'm sorry I didn't…didn't…" She could hear the unspoken ending: _didn't protect you…couldn't save you…doubted you…_

"No. Don't be sorry. It was too long ago."

"It feels like yesterday. Every time I close my eyes. Every time I dream." The strong, muscular, maleness beside her shuddered with the effort to keep emotions under control.

"But it's not yesterday. Or today. Or even tomorrow, Hotch. Not necessarily anyway." Prentiss straightened, coaxing him to do so, too, and to look her in the eye. "Remember what Madame Sobrani said? You fought so hard, spirit and soul, that you jumped some kind of barrier. You weren't supposed to be human yet. But, if you could be that strong and defy those odds…my God, Hotch…what _couldn't_ you do?"

His dark eyes fixed on her. Even in the night she could see their glint. Feel their heat. When he spoke, she could hear the wolf in him. "I couldn't save my family. I couldn't keep the ones I love safe. Haley died because of me. It's halfway to happening again. What about Jack?...I can't…I can't…"

"Stop." She hugged him hard, counting on the shock effect to silence him. It worked. _We're not going to solve this tonight._ _I need to get back to Mom. She wants him here. Maybe she has more to tell us; something that'll help him move on._

"C'mon, Hotch." Prentiss stood, pulling the Unit Chief up with her. "It's late. Let's go in."

 _And that necklace…it's still there. Maybe if_ _ **I**_ _tried putting it on…maybe I'd see further…maybe I'd see a way out…a way to help him…_


	45. To and For Each Other

"Everything okay? Hotch? Prentiss? The Ambassador? You? Everyone?"

Morgan's words were furtive, subdued. He'd accompanied Garcia home. Baby Girl had been too wound up to do much more than fret and jitter about her 'babies.' Derek's presence had a calming effect on her. She'd fallen asleep as they sat side by side on her colorfully upholstered couch, where they'd begun watching nature videos…Garcia's choice.

Morgan had put a stop to it when the subject was a playful litter of wolf cubs. The narrator's sonorous intonation that wolves mated for life and were a symbol of constant loyalty in many cultures made Penelope sob outright. He'd held her while she wept out her empathic heart. When she quieted, he let her rest within his arms. Derek didn't know where the inspiration came from, but he knew he needed to supplant the images in her mind of cuddly pups being lost in some savage long-ago connected to their leader. He'd begun telling her what amounted to a bedtime story...

…one where pups and parents and lupine families frolicked in pastoral settings and learned love and loyalty from the finest examples in the animal kingdom. By the time Morgan reached the 'and they lived happily ever after' part, Baby Girl had dozed off. He studied her peaceful, tear-stained face and felt his own heart squeeze in sympathy.

He really wanted to believe his own tale, but Derek needed something more solid than words. So he called Rossi.

"You need any help, man?"

"No, but thanks, kid." The older man sounded weary, but there was nothing to make Morgan think he was covering up; putting on a brave face. "It was weird, but…well, I think everyone's tucked in for the night by now."

Morgan frowned. "What does that mean? You guys aren't together?"

"No. They wanted to be alone. It's okay, Derek. Hotch knows he can call if he needs anything."

"Rossi…" Uneasy silence followed.

"Look, Morgan…I know it's concerning, but it's a fine line we're walking between interfering and offering support. Hell, it's a whole _bunch_ of fine lines. It's Hotch and Prentiss's personal lives. And it's buying into the whole mythology of _past_ lives. And then there's the paranormal aspect of things like…like that necklace."

"What? Are you talkin' about that thing Garcia found pictures of? In a cave? Pre-history?"

Dave expelled a long, slow sigh. "Yeah. Only now I think Penelope would call it 'magic.' And I'm not sure I'd argue with her."

Another weighty pause.

"You gonna tell me anything more, Rossi?"

"I'd rather you hear it from them. It's their story. Not mine."

"But they're alright?"

"I believe so, Derek."

"Okay. Good enough. 'Night, man."

"Night."

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

Prentiss and Hotch brought their bags inside, dropping them in the foyer before making their slow way up to the Ambassador's room.

Elizabeth had swung herself around so she was sitting on the edge of the mattress. After the prolonged period lying on her back, her head was swimming and her muscles and joints felt stiff with disuse. Taking a deep breath, she raised her eyes when the two agents entered, locking on Aaron.

"Mr. Hotchner, when you touched that necklace did you feel anything…shall we say… _untoward_?...EMILY, STOP!"

Prentiss had covered the distance to the inoffensive, little heap of amulets in two strides. She stood over them, head cocked to one side, looking for all the world like an inquisitive magpie whose next move would be to take ownership of the shiny objects that lured her. Her mother's strident command halted her. Still, she bent closer, inspecting the stones.

"Mr. Hotchner! Did you feel anything strange?"

The Unit Chief blinked. Something about the older woman compelled him to take a subordinate role. "I…I don't know, Ma'am. Everything happened so…so…"

" _Think_ , man! What did you _feel_?" The Ambassador's piercing glare pinned Aaron.

Elizabeth's tone roused Emily, breaking her away from her fascinated regard of the amulets. "Mom, stop it! He probably saved your life! Don't talk to him that way."

"Prentiss, it's okay…"

"No, Hotch. It's not." She rounded on her mother. "You don't know what he's been through these last few days; how hard it's been on him. A lot harder than it's been on me." She softened her tone. "And I'm a lot more interested in knowing what _you_ felt, Mom. You're the one who saw…who saw us…saw me…"

"Saw you die, Emmie." The words hung between them, reminding both of the uncharacteristic tenderness of their reunion just moments before.

Hotch, on full profiler-alert, observed the currents flowing between them; the stance and posturing of both Prentisses. _They're more alike than either wants to admit. Strong women. Born leaders. Of course they clash._

While Elizabeth held her daughter with her gaze, her words were for Aaron. "Mr. Hotchner, I'm sorry if I seem abrupt. This has been a very unsettling few days for me, too. And I do appreciate your coming to my rescue, especially if your doing so prevented Emily from coming into contact with _that_." She jutted her chin toward the glistening turquoise. "But I need to know if you can handle those stones safely. Believe me, if they affect you the way they did me, you'll have been very aware of their power. So, once again…did you feel anything strange?"

Hotch gave the necklace a considering look, then shook his head. "No. When you put it that way…no."

The Ambassador heaved a huge sigh of relief. "Oh, thank God. Then please take them now."

Aaron moved toward the corner where he'd flung the ancient artifact, giving it a suspicious poke with the toe of his shoe. "What do you want me to do with them?"

"Just keep them for now. Keep them away from Emily."

"Mom!" Outrage infused the younger woman's voice. "You said the choice to touch them or not would be mine! You can't go back on that now!"

"Yes, I can, Emily. I said that before I knew what they could do…what they meant for us, for those of our bloodline."

While the women argued, Hotch progressed to squatting beside the amulets and stirring them about with one tentative finger.

Emily's jaw firmed, her eyes narrowed. "You didn't just _touch_ those stones, Mom. You put them on! Around your neck! And you did it while you were here alone. Now, if you want to get down to the nuts and bolts of things…I'm younger. Stronger. I'm trained to handle crisis situations. And I'm forewarned about what I might find; where I might be. And I've got you and Hotch here to keep an eye on me. So…what are you afraid of?"

The Ambassador's features worked in a way her daughter couldn't reconcile with the domineering personality beneath them. Pushed to label the expression, Emily would have said it was reluctant fear; like someone whose beliefs are being challenged in a way that can't be accepted. "What is it, Mom? Tell me."

Hotch had decided he was safe from whatever animated the stones. He picked them up, letting them pool in his palm as he inspected them more closely.

Elizabeth was biting her lip, worrying it with the same impulse that made her daughter bite and abused her nails. "Maybe there's nothing to it, Emmie. Maybe it's a superstition…an old wives' tale, but…" She turned the tortured eyes of someone forced to reevaluate her entire belief system on her child. "…they say if you're dreaming, and in that dream…you die, then you die in reality, too." Prentiss inhaled, feeling her lungs freeze at her mother's words. "So, you see what I'm afraid of? If you die back there…and you're present in whatever reality that necklace facilitates…"

"Then you think I'll die here, too." Prentiss dropped to sit beside her mother. Both were silent, until Emily looked up, noticing Hotch in the corner, immersed in his own investigation of the turquoise amulets. She spoke in a low, private tone. "Mom, did you see what happened to him? After I…you know…?"

"No." Elizabeth closed her eyes as the images washed over her. "I don't remember much after you…after they got you. I think some kind of mental connection was severed. I felt as though I was lost, unmoored…" She straightened, looking at her daughter. "…until your Mr. Hotchner pulled the necklace off me. I saw him and…and I was back."

Emily's eyes were on Aaron. Her lips lifted in a grin that made her mother's heart chill for a moment. It was the same look she'd seen when, growing up, the girl and been about to fling caution to the wind; when she had climbed roofs and trees, or had thrown herself into unknown waters. It was a dangerous look that fed on risk.

"Mom, I'll be safe. Look at him. He came across boundaries we can only imagine to find me again. He'll know if I'm in trouble. He'll call me back. What's more…I'll know he's here waiting. You got lost. I won't."

She turned a look of absolute calm on the older woman.

"I won't leave him. You said it yourself. No matter where or when that necklace takes me, I'll still be able to feel him waiting for me. And I have to find out what happened to him back then. I need to know what he went through. It's important."

"Emily, it all happened a long, long time ago. You don't owe Mr. Hotchner anything when it comes to the past. Especially not a past that distant."

Prentiss shook her head. "It's part of being in the BAU. It's something Hotch always says: 'We are responsible to and for each other.' And whatever he experienced has followed him…is _still_ following him.

"Mom, I can't explain. I _feel_ it…I _can't_ turn away from it…I have to go back…"


	46. Heiress

Just as Garcia and Morgan had opted to end the night together, Reid took comfort in J.J.'s company.

While she checked on her own little family, opening doors, kissing foreheads and feeling her heart overflow in the presence of their restful sleep, Reid rummaged through his satchel and set up his laptop. He was deep in research-mode by the time J.J. returned to the living room with two mugs of chamomile tea.

"Wha'cha doin', Spence?" She nudged his elbow, making him aware of a steaming cup's presence.

"Checking out more of the firebird mythology." He accepted the tea, but his focus never wavered from the monitor before him.

J.J. took a seat on the couch at his side, curling her legs under her and inhaling the calming fragrance of the herbs. "Because it comes from the part of the world that spawned Emily's maternal ancestors?"

"Uh-huh." He was riveted by pages of text the liaison couldn't decipher; his eyes tracking through it at a speed that she found at once incomprehensible, enviable, and a little disturbing.

"Anything new?"

Reid's lips twitched with humor. "None of this stuff is new. It's all very, very, _very_ old."

"Spe-e-e-ence?" She drawled, sounding like a big sister reprimanding her sibling's lapse in manners. "You know what I mean."

"Sorry." He beamed her a grateful grin. The young genius didn't have many friends to begin with, and even fewer he could tease with comfort. "It's a weird love-hate relationship the culture has with these birds. For instance, they were sought for their plumage and hunted as trophies, but…" His smile faded. "…they were also considered dangerous. Seeing one often foreshadowed terrible upheavals. Things like kingdoms falling and natural disasters occurring. And there was one tale…" Reid swallowed, looking into J.J.'s soft eyes, using their calm blue as an anchor to keep him moored when his imagination and intellect would have pulled him too far off course.

"There was one that told of an invasion of…of wolves. One of the firebirds was killed when they meant to capture her. They brought her corpse back to the castle to show the King that they had done their best to bring him this new, exotic pet despite it having gone wrong at the end. No one ever left the castle again. By the next morning, the entire village was ringed 'round with wolves. Hundreds. Anyone who tried to leave was cut down. No help could be sent for. No supplies could be brought in. There was no mass communication. No modern weapons at that time. Nothing."

J.J. swallowed. "No survivors?"

Reid shook his head, gaze fastened on the past. "The wolves avenged the firebird. Travelers after the fact found the place strewn with human bones and wolf tracks. And the legend says that to this day, although nothing remains of the castle, in the winter woods at night, you can see flashes of flame in the upper branches of the oldest trees…the feathers of the bird as her ghost flits among them, trying to escape. And you can hear mournful howls on the frozen wind…the wolves in mourning forevermore."

His voice faded on the last words. Both agents were silent, imagining the blood and violence of ages past. It didn't feel mythical. It felt tragic.

At last J.J. cleared her throat and drank deeply of her tea. "You don't think it really happened that way, do you? I mean…wolves can't join and strategize like that…right?"

Reid broke out of his own reverie to regard his friend. "What do _I_ think?" He bit his bottom lip, considering. "I think legends spring from the truth. It's usually the events that are changed with the telling. But in this case I think it's the participants that transformed over time, because people thought as you just did: wolves can't do that."

"What do you mean?"

"Those weren't the creatures we know as wolves today. And that wasn't any kind of bird we'd recognize as one. Different species entirely."

J.J. blinked. "Hotch…"

"…and Prentiss."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Emily stood before Aaron, hand outstretched, palm up, to receive the turquoise stones.

The Unit Chief looked from mother to daughter, from older to younger…and took a tentative step backwards, placing the necklace clutched in his fist behind his back, safely out of his teammate's reach. Or so he thought.

"Hotch, don't make me come at you."

Her leader's brows drew down, framing his glare. It was his most potent weapon at the moment. "You don't think you'd win in a test of physical strength, do you, Prentiss?"

Emily's smile was mirthless and sad. "No. I also know you would never hurt me. So…if I lunged at you and wrestled you for it, your focus would be split. You'd be as concerned with my welfare as with keeping that necklace under your control. So…the advantage would be mine. Just hand it over, Hotch. Please."

Aaron backed away until he met a wall, pressing himself against it, making it that much harder for Prentiss to access his hand sandwiched between the small of his back and exposed brick. "You're right. I won't hurt you, but I won't _let_ you get hurt either." He shook his head. "Until we know more, I can't let you take any risks. Not after seeing the effect it had on your mother."

From her place on the edge of the bed, the Ambassador watched, mesmerized. This was the first time she'd seen her daughter and the leader of the BAU without the distraction of other people and situations surrounding them. There was something compelling, something ancient about their chemistry. _Bird dance…_ The word ghosted through her mind. _They've done this before…and I know how it'll end…And maybe that's why I felt so strongly, was so insistent, that Mr. Hotchner stay with us…I_ _ **know**_ _what has to happen…_ She buried her face in her hands, but couldn't resist looking again, watching what was meant to be.

Keeping eye contact, Emily moved closer. And closer. Until only fabric separated them and she could feel the heat of his body pulsing through it.

Hotch looked down on her and saw the minute changes in her posture and expression. There was a smoothing, a complete lack of artifice. No games. No contest. Only honesty. It was hard to breathe when he tried to stay so still.

"Hotch, listen to me." Her voice lulled him. The moisture welling in her eyes seemed to magnify them. He couldn't look away; couldn't help but listen. "You told me what happened to you back then. Losing everything. You thought I deserted you, but I didn't. You might have misinterpreted other things, too. What you believe happened has been following you for longer than either of us can imagine. It's taken you over. It's coloring your life now…and maybe it colored others, too. It's the thing that's holding you back. It's the chain Madame Sobrani spoke of."

She pressed even closer, though he'd thought that wasn't possible. "She said not to fight it, Hotch. Maybe this is what she meant. Instead of fearing it, running from it…go back. Take a second look at where it all began. I can do that. Let me. Don't fight it, Hotch...Don't fight…Don't fight…"

To the Ambassador's horror, but just as she'd known would happen, Emily slid her hand between Aaron's body and the wall.

When she stepped back from him, she held his wrist.

The sky-blue stones seemed to drip from his fingers, waiting for their true owner, the heiress to their power, to claim them.


	47. Hope

"I don't want you to see what happened to me…to my family."

Hotch's gravel-velvet voice cracked on the last word. "I wouldn't wish that on anyone. That's why I was _glad_ …" The crack widened into an almost-sob. "…when your mother said you were gone…that you died first."

"I know…I know…" Prentiss held his wrist steady. She didn't try to pry the stones from his grasp. It felt important that whatever happened next be consensual. "I've seen so much since then, Hotch. You even acknowledged once that I never blink in the field. No matter what. And I've said this to you before, too: I can take it." Her voice lowered to a murmur. "I can take it…Don't fight anymore, Hotch…I can take it…Let it happen…"

"Emmie, n-o-o-o-o-o," Elizabeth moaned. "You can't do this…You don't know what it's like…"

Prentiss kept hold of Hotch, her eyes never leaving him. "It'll be different for me, Mom. I…just… _know_ …You both have to trust me." Her focus honed in on Aaron again; the words only for him. "Trust me…don't fight…don't fight…let it happen…trust me…"

He was breathing in short sips; too tense to let his lungs fill. It wasn't speech that started deep in his throat. It was a sound that embodied millennia of conflict, doubt and pain. It made Prentiss's eyes close. She saw a shaggy, black canine; it's faithful head bowed in suffering. It was all she could do to resist pulling Hotch's head down so she could press her lips against the soft, dark hair and run her fingers over it as though she were comforting a pet. _More than a pet! A companion…a creature tied to my soul. Disparate species joined in a way that never was before, and never will be again…A unique evolutionary occurrence, and they killed us off…_

"Prentiss, no."

"Hotch, I can't explain. It's a risk, but I need to take it."

"Then take me, too."

Emily froze. The possibility hadn't occurred to her. She had no idea if she could. Or should. There was no one to ask for advice or instruction. "I don't know if I can."

"Try." His eyes were filling and she realized what he was _really_ doing: offering to die with her, if, as her mother feared, it came to that. And of course he would; that's what they had always done for each other…died together.

"No, Hotch. You're already haunted by it. Even if I could…" Then she realized the _other_ thing he was communicating: he was giving her permission to take the necklace from him. He wouldn't fight her.

Words didn't seem necessary after that.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Prentiss had intended to take the amulets and hang them around her neck as her mother had done.

She didn't get that far.

As soon as she touched them, she was gone. The stones were still pooled in Hotch's palm. When he felt Emily's knees buckle, he caught her with one arm wrapped around her waist, pressing her close to his own body. His other hand closed over her smaller one; the necklace twining through both their fingers.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The icy cold that took Emily was different from that which had assaulted her mother.

It didn't numb her; it exhilarated her.

She felt the same crisp, pine-scented freedom she'd felt when she'd first set foot in Madame Sobrani's parlor. It took her a few minutes to get her bearings, and when she did, she could feel herself smiling some future-when in Hotch's arms.

 _I can fly!...It isn't a dream…I can fly…_

As elated as her dreams had been when it came to flight, they didn't compare to what she felt now. She couldn't put words to it, but it was as though the amulets increased and augmented every sensation a thousand-fold. She was at once lighter and stronger.

And there was something else that defied explanation.

She had a sense of where her hunting companion was… _Hotch?_...and she could sense others of her kind; scattered presences with tenuous touch, one stronger than the others… _Mom?_... but she had no sense of herself. Cresting a rise and looking down, she understood why.

 _Is that me? My body? How…?_

She felt strangely dispassionate gazing at the creature lying so still among the pines. Azure robes were twisted around the slender body. One wing stretched wide, feathers so glossy black the faint sheen of rainbows danced across them. Black hair and dark, staring eyes that saw nothing of those who surrounded her, bows gripped loosely, arguing fiercely. _They weren't supposed to kill her…me.._

 _But if I'm dead, what am I?_ She drifted closer to the hilltop where a battle was still being waged. _Is this the part of me that continues from here to the next age? And the next?_ She would have liked to hover and examine the scene and her reactions, but sudden desperation lanced through her. _Hotch?!_ _Or what was Hotch once…He's in trouble!_

It amazed her that she could still feel the beat of her own wings, could still feel power and purpose coursing through her. She arrowed toward where she knew her companion was waging the fight of his life.

XXXXXXXXXXX

Elizabeth watched the Unit Chief of the BAU slide to the ground, her daughter's body clasped against his chest.

Somewhere unimaginably distant, Emily felt a flutter of sympathy. Hotch was embracing her the same way he'd held Haley's body. She wanted to reassure him that she was okay, but she couldn't split her focus that much.

 _You'll just have to trust me, Hotch. I have to follow this to its end. Don't fight…trust me…I can take it…_

XXXXXXXXXXX

Prentiss had never seen man nor beast fight so hard.

Her wolf-companion hurled himself against the enemy like a crazed thing. At first she didn't understand how he could continue battling with arrows piercing him, with ropes and nets thrown over him. Ethereal and insubstantial as she was, his wild bellows of rage shook her to her marrow.

Then she saw the reason. What enabled him to sustain injuries and remain a formidable foe was a den only yards away. The she-wolf and the pups within were his life. At the last, his mate joined him, both defending their children.

Grief and hate welled up in Emily, nearly costing her the ability to remain an observer. She felt herself shudder millennia away in Hotch's arms. She knew tears were leaking from her eyes. She knew he had to reach deep within himself to keep from tearing the turquoise amulets out of her grip…to keep trusting her as she'd asked.

She knew how it would end. It wasn't a wolf anymore. It was Hotch in her mind.

His mate was killed at the scene of battle. He was unconscious soon after. They cursed and kicked him for the damage he and his wife had inflicted on them. They routed the pups from safety, piling them in a crate around their motionless father.

Screaming in silent, sympathetic pain, Emily followed when they gathered her body and set out for home with their tragic cargo.

XXXXXXXXXX

Hotch didn't know why he started to cry.

But he wouldn't let go of Prentiss. He kept hold, feeling the stones of the necklace pulsing against both their fingers.

He wanted to howl, but the sorrow cleaving him apart was too great. It hurt so much he could only choke out a small, frightened whimper.

It helped a little when the Ambassador knelt by his side, pulled his head against her chest and stroked his hair, whispering words in a language he couldn't decipher, but which some part of him associated with comfort.

XXXXXXXXXXX

She almost left.

The abuse and torture these people viewed as entertainment sickened her. She could feel the Hotch-wolf losing his sanity as his children were brought forth and died at each other's throats before him.

 _My God…no wonder it followed him. Too much!...Too much!...Hotch! You were my beautiful friend, my companion and protector and confidante…you were so purely happy with your life and your loves…your family…If I could kill you now instead of just watching, I would…I'd end you to save you from this…_

At last the agonized howls were more than she could bear. The Hotch-wolf's mind was gone; taken by his tormentors along with everything else.

Prentiss fled, soaring higher where the air was clean and she could try to breathe something besides the scents of blood and terror.

Far above the end of her friend, she cast one last look down in tribute to his courage and his steadfast heart that never wavered.

And saw…

And gasped…

And knew…

 _Hotch! This is why I came! Madame Sobrani was right!…there_ _ **is**_ _hope…I've seen it!..._

She couldn't wait to tell him. Spreading her phantom wings wide, Prentiss's eagle-cry tore across the ages, begging him to call her home…

…and hoping that he'd hear her.


	48. Lesson Learned

Elizabeth felt Hotch pull away from her.

He jerked upright, large, damp eyes filled with questions staring up into hers.

"What? What is it?" A tiny flame of fear ignited in the Ambassador's breast. _Emmie! Please, please don't let it be my Emmie!..._

He blinked at her in confusion, unmindful of the tears that tracked down his face, unaware they fed her terror for her daughter. "Ma'am…did…did you just say something?" His chest hitched with the effort to speak past the emotions shredding through him.

She'd been murmuring comfort, Russian phrases that felt right, although she couldn't say why. But she'd been doing it all along, since she'd taken a place beside this intense, young man and cradled his head against her. "Not really. Why?"

The Unit Chief jerked again; a bolt of shock he couldn't identify, never having experienced it before. He felt it again; a clear, crystal icicle spearing him, but not painful. Demanding, yes. But not painful. And then a new kind of terror blossomed inside him. "It's her! She's trying to get back! Prentiss! Emily!"

The Ambassador watched, helpless. "What does she need?"

"I don't know!"

"Help her, Hotchner! HELP HER!"

Aaron lifted the limp body of his teammate, bringing her face to his. Gut instinct clicked in. Nothing to do with training for field work under the auspices of the FBI or SWAT. This was chromosome-deep, gene-true.

When he couldn't disentangle their fingers from the strands of turquoise, he bent his neck, tearing at the stones with his teeth, ripping them away with a snarl. Sending them rattling into a far corner with a toss of his head.

Prentiss's gasp made Hotch realize how lightly she'd been breathing the entire time. She thrashed in his arms, lungs burning, eyes wild.

Elizabeth scooted backward, giving the pair a few feet of breathing room. The image of a bird's wings beating in frantic panic played across her mind's eye.

Emily clung to Hotch, chest heaving as she sucked in breath after breath. Her arms circled his neck, squeezing him close. For his part, Aaron stayed as still as he could, struggling not to hug the slim body in his grip too tightly.

Still gasping, Prentiss leaned back from her leader, eyes and fingers traveling over his features with hungry desperation. "It's you…It's really you…I'm back…It's you…Hotch…You're okay…you're okay…you're okay…"

The edges of Aaron's lips twitched in mirthless recognition of the mantra _he_ usually chanted when trying to convince himself that he was, indeed, okay. It lasted but a moment. He grimaced. "You saw what happened…my nightmare…I could feel it…"

"Yes." She couldn't stop touching him, feeling the proof of his physical reality, of the living warmth of his flesh. She forced her hands to stop moving. They came to rest cradling his face, her thumbs stroking his cheekbones. "Yes, Hotch. I saw it. I saw it all. You're free, Hotch, and you don't even know it yet. I saw it. I saw what you couldn't. I saw…"

XXXXXXXXXXXX

She soared above the bloody games of the savages and looked down for one last time; a farewell to more than friend, more than companion…and gasped.

With frenzied desperation a small, black pup was digging, digging, digging at the edge of the pen that held his brethren…digging, digging, digging with tiny, untried paws. Their captors were drunk with harsh wine and the lust of cruelty. Digging, digging, digging…

As she watched, the little black wolf squeezed his way out. Behind him came his even smaller, gray sister.

They ran as their parents had taught them… _If anything happens to us, you must run, run, run. Don't look back, don't look back, don't look back. Run, run, run…_

She saw them make it to the edge of the woods, their small size the saving grace that let them escape notice. Into the trees they sped… _don't look back, don't look back, run, run, run…_

Her breath caught when they thudded into the powerful, adult legs of three grown wolves drawn by the scent of their own kind's blood, inhaling it with lips lifted and teeth bared.

For a moment the tiny ones cowered, unsure of their fate in this world gone mad and hurtful.

The adults nuzzled the orphans. With delicate strength, one lifted the black pup by his nape, turned and ran, head high the better to shelter the cub with its powerful neck. Another followed suit with the gray pup.

The third wolf turned eyes the color of angry flames toward the castle. Lifting her muzzle to the sky, she keened a lament for the death of a great chieftain and his family. Except for two traumatized babies.

At least, his line would continue. They could do that much for him…

XXXXXXXXXXX

"I saw it all, Hotch."

Still holding him, she stared into his eyes, seeking a sign that he understood the import of her tale. His lids lowered. He rested his forehead against hers. She felt several lifetimes-worth of tension drain from him.

"There's more. Things I sensed, but didn't see. It was like…like a current of communication between our two species. I didn't see, but I know…"

He didn't open his eyes, but moved his head to rest on her shoulder, letting her take the weight of his upper body against herself. _I can take it…I can take it…_ echoed through his mind.

She swallowed. "I…I know where they were taking your pups. To a cave…a cave where they'd be safe. A cave where the bird-people would commemorate the death of their…their _priestess_ with a painting.

"My people mourned with art, but yours…yours were warriors. Hotch…I think that wolf that howled was the start of a summoning. I think they were so enraged by what happened, they were going to gather together and make sure it never happened again."

Aaron sobbed into the side of her neck. With the pain of remembrance. With relief. With sheer emotional exhaustion.

The Ambassador had been watching, listening, feeling the truth of her daughter's words and interpretation of events. She stood and, leaning over them put a hand on a shoulder; stroked a head of dark, thick hair. "Emily…I think you both need to rest. This is too much for him to…" She shook her head. "It's just too much."

XXXXXXXXXX

Prentiss refused to leave Hotch's side.

The images of the past were burning too brightly. She needed confirmation that he was here and warm and alive. She needed to stay close in case he needed comfort during what was left of the night.

It felt right when she laid her head on the pillow beside his.

They stared into the dark in silence until his hand crept toward her and met hers making the same journey toward him. They clasped, twining fingers again, but this time without a string of amulets between them.

"Thank you, Prentiss."

"Welcome." Several beats of silence. "Are you alright now, Hotch?"

"Not sure. Not sure how to put it all together."

He could hear the smile in her voice when she replied. "You don't see it yet. Mom's right: you need time. Madame Sobrani was right, too. She said there was a chance to break the pattern, if you stopped fighting the chains. Remember?"

"Still not sure what that means."

Emily turned on her side, propped up on her elbow so she could look down at him. "I think it happened when you let me go back. You accepted help. You let someone else take the reins. That's hard for you. Especially when the person you need to rely on is a woman. You don't trust us as much as you do men. Maybe that reaches back to believing I'd deserted you back then. But you broke your pattern and the result was…now you know you didn't lose everything. Now you know you're not as alone as you feel. You stopped fighting the chains that were _inside_ you."

Quiet minutes passed as he considered her theory.

"You might be right, Prentiss." His voice softened. "So what happens now?"

She flopped back down, looking up at the ceiling. "I dunno. I guess the necklace goes back into storage. Maybe with a letter of warning about what'll happen if the wrong…or right, depending on your outlook…person touches it." She shrugged as best she could lying on her back. "And I guess we tell the others as much as we want…or as much as _they_ want….I dunno…"

His voice had a slight rumble of mirth. "So no 'happily ever after' in this fairytale?"

" S'not a fairytale, Hotch. We both know that. It happened."

"Then what is it now? In this time… _our_ time? A legend? A fable? What's the lesson we take with us?"

Emily heard the echo of the words that filled the tiny, black pup's mind as he and his sister raced away from all their loved ones, raced away from the sound of death…

"We move forward from here, Hotch. Without any more chains. We give ourselves a fair chance to live _this_ life the best way we know how…Most of all…"

In one of the occult moments that had always and would always knit them together, he finished her thought. "We don't look back. Don't look back…"

She pressed his hand. "At least, not alone. Deal?"

"Deal."

Drained, they fell asleep in the silence that followed.

She dreamt of flight, but this time there were no tiny, Devil's bells, no jesses yanking her down. There was only the purity of sky and freedom.

As for Hotch, he smiled in his sleep. For the first time he saw his children outliving him.

It was all he'd ever wanted.

~The End~


End file.
